


I Just Want You

by MissMeggie



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe-Civilian, Arson, Blind Date, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, From Sex to Love, Gen, Handcuffs, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Love Confessions, Masturbation, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Other, Past Abuse, Phone Sex, Physical Abuse, Tumblr Prompt, Verbal Abuse, Violence, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5552381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMeggie/pseuds/MissMeggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant attends his ex-girlfriend's wedding because they are over and fine with that despite public opinion. His date falls ill and her replacement just might be the very best thing to happen to him yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lemons Into Lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on this: Anon asked: How about an au for biospec which involves person A's ex just invited them to their wedding and they need Person B to be their date so it doesn’t look like they've spent the last few years failing to get over them.  
> Title borrowed from Sara Barellies' song I Just Want You

AN: I own nothing. As always many thanks to my Myranda for all her awesomeness! This is a very very late reply to a tumblr prompt! If you enjoy tell me.

Grant Ward is so completely over Skye Johnson it's truly not funny. What is funny is that no one believes him when he says it: not their combined friends, not his brothers, and not even half his colleagues at the precinct.

His partner Bobbi, at least, understands, if only because her ex is a firefighter and, according to Bobbi, neither her ex's station house nor the precinct wants to give up on the pair. It's why she agrees to be his date to Skye's wedding, if only beat back the rumor mill for one of them. Though other rumors could start as result. He has never found his partner attractive, despite her beauty and damn near Amazonian height. She's his friend, his back up in every way that could count.

He's tried dating a friend before, it just didn't work. Three years ago, he'd broken it off with Skye and they'd maintained their friendship though everyone tried to push them back together as "destined" and "right". It wasn't right; it was like fitting a square peg into a round hole. What the two of them have now works for them, a friendship built on affection and respect, nothing more.

So the morning of the big day, he's actually looking forward to the free booze and food that Skye's loaded parents will undoubtedly have paid for when he gets a text from Bobbi.

*Morse: Bad news, good news, Ward. The bad – that fucker Murphy lied about food poisoning and it WAS contagious…

He doesn't wait for her next text to fire back.

*Ward: God damn it, are you shitting me? I have to go stag and suffer the judgment of everyone because that asshole doesn't want to take a sick day?

*Morse: Good news - I got you, man. Go to St. Rita's Hospital for 4 pm. Emergency exit, look for a pretty brunette in a yellow dress.

*Morse: Which you'd have known if you let me finish my text.

*Ward: The hell, Morse?! I can't just take a stranger to the wedding?

*Morse: Why not? It's not like you RSVP'd with my name. And Jemma owes me one. Plus, you'll like her. Trust me. She's smart, pretty, literally the sweetest woman I know. She's the only thing I truly miss about being married to Lance. You'll thank me later.

*Morse: And don't leave her hanging, she's in surgery most of the day and if I have to drag myself from the floor of the bathroom to shoot you for standing her up, I will.

-/-/-/-

"He's not going to show Bob. Oh, and before I forget, stay hydrated. I'll send Lance by with some of that chicken noodle soup from Mama Joy's you like so much and ginger ale. Anyway 'm a complete stranger! What do I have in common with a vice cop?" she says into her phone. She finishes up her mascara and stuffs her dirty scrubs down into her go bag.

"Of course he's going to show up, Jem. Trust me, if I didn't have this bug, he'd have dragged me along to avoid the pity stares at Skye's wedding. Anyway, you said you were having a dry spell and I think you'd have fun taking him for a test drive before you get back to the races. Trust in fact that I'd never purposely steer you wrong."

"Is he attractive?" she asks, making her way out to her car to ditch the bag into the back seat of her Prius.

"He's annoyingly attractive."

"Intelligent?"

"No one is as smart as you, babe, but he'll keep up."

"I'll have to take your word for it. Calling the irksome big brother for you now, love, I love you! Rest! Sleep is the most effective medicine. Bye.

-/-/-/-

When Grant pulls up, he sees her instantly. She's hard to miss in that lemon yellow dress and matching heels. She's also wearing something that's sort of half headband, half hat. It has a little jauntily placed top hat and black veil that partially obscures her face. If she's Hunter's sister, then she's British, so he chalks it up to that.

When his car comes to a stop in front of her, she distractedly ends her call. She slips the phone into her clutch as he gets out of the car.

He doesn't miss her appreciative glance at the Tesla Roadster as he crosses around the front of it to stand before her. "Family dough has its advantages, she's a beaut, huh?" She nods in agreement. Then the glance is turned on him and it's definitely more than appreciation in her eyes. There is certainly lust mixed into it; he's incited enough of it in women to know how to spot it, though he rarely returns it as readily or keenly as he does just now.

Morse had called her pretty, which is a gross underestimation by his definition. She is beautiful in a delicate, demure way he can't quite put his finger on. She extends a fine-boned hand to him.

"Jemma Simmons," she says with a slight whimsical smile.

When he shakes her hand, he expects softness. But her grip is strong, and there are callouses on her fingers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers Morse mentioning her sister-in-law was some sort of surgeon and was highly sought after.

"Grant Ward."

"Grant, it's nice to meet you. Surely you aren't as loathsome as my brother claims."

He returns her teasing smile. "Let's hope not." He can admit, if only to himself, there is added pleasure in knowing that his attraction to Jemma will rile up Hunter. He helps her into the car and, when she's not looking around in curiosity, she's tugging at the hem of her skirt.

When he pulls her hand away from the fabric, his fingers brush her thigh and she inhales in surprise. "Why are you nervous?" He asks, glancing between her and the traffic light they're stopped at. It won't be long until they reach the wedding: Skye is getting married at a church mere blocks from hospital.

"Bobbi said you wish to detract from the queries about you and Skye by bringing someone and appearing to be involved which I completely understand it's only that-"

"I'm over her," he states, meaning it fully for the four-thousandth time. Even if he hadn't been, something tells him the good doctor would have cured him of a hung up heart in seconds flat.

"I'm sure, I only mean to say that I'm a rather horrid liar."

He shrugs. "We'll just keep it simple and then let people assume whatever they choose. Bobbi introduced us and we hit it off."

"That is the truth, or or so it would seem." She shoots him that half smile again. He aims to get the full-fledged one before the night is through.

He has every intention of letting go of her hand; he just never quite manages to do it. She doesn't seem to mind.

=/=

They park the car Jemma is itching to drive and cross the church yard together, her hand still laced with his. She glances around as they enter the tiny gothic-style church with its high ceilings and stained glass windows.

Jemma had always loved churches. It was like the complexity of each one was the architect's way of worshiping. She can't say that aloud without sounding fanciful and odd, so she contents herself with a sigh of appreciation.

As they make their way up the aisle to their seats, Jemma takes in the bright purples and pinks and vibrant green of the summer colors at odds with the traditionalism of the church. Something tells her she'd like the bride. She's not sure how her date would feel about that.

He releases her hand so she can step in front of him to take her seat and a tiny part of her feels a loss at the contact. Before she can think it over much, he's seated beside her and the processional starts.

First comes the groomsmen and the groom, a dorky-looking, all American type. He seems familiar but Jemma can't place him. He looks nervous yet happy. It's very sweet.

She shifts her eyes to glance at Grant, who seems unfazed.

The best man, a handsome black man, shoots her a grin as he passes. Grant stretches his arm across the pew behind her a touch possessively. Half to play up her part and half because she simply wants to, Jemma leans into him. He draws imaginary designs on her arm. If she didn't know any better, she'd say they feel like his initials.

Shortly, the wedding march begins to play and the bride begins her walk as the congregation stands. She's not sure what she was expecting, but its not this woman wearing a short lace dress, high heeled converse sneakers and daisy crown. She's remarkably pretty in a very pure way. There is something in the effervescent, almost uncontainable way the girl moves that is utterly at odds with the cocksure but methodical man standing at Jemma's side.

Skye only has eyes for her groom. She barely notices anything else and seems startled out of her thoughts when her father kisses her cheek. Something must strike Grant as funny, because he stifles a laugh.

The ceremony is fairly straight-forward, and when minister calls for objections, no one makes any, though a few eyes turn awkwardly their way.

The vows are short and sweet, very to the point, which Jemma's glad for because she's hungry enough to eat horse. Not literally, of course.

-/-/-

The reception is held a huge tent behind the church. There is no receiving line. Grant expected as much, as Skye had never been much for following convention. Instead, the bride and groom are simply announced as they come in after their photos. Skye looks truly happy and he's glad for her. He holds no bitterness toward he: they had been a bad fit trying to make good. They genuine liked each other and on paper they should have worked. They just didn't. They were opposite enough to attract, just not enough to work.

He looks at Jemma and catches her looking back at him. She smiles at him. There's a tension between them, and not an uncomfortable one, something flowing between them.

He wants to explore it.

"What?" she asks.

"Wanna eat?"

"I thought you'd never ask. I'm starved!"

As they get up to fill their plates she turns back to him. "Please do not judge me based upon the way I'm about to wolf all of this down."

"Never. " He laughs, delighted by her honesty. "What'd you do today?"

"Three MVA's with various injuries, a crush syndrome victim, and an aortic dissection I barely caught in time. I hardly had the time to breathe, much less eat or drink. What did you do?"

"Can't say a lot about it, but currently I'm gathering intel to infiltrate a drug cartel."

"Sounds quite fraught with danger."

"It it wasn't a little dangerous, it wouldn't be fun."

"That should likely be more worrying than it is."

They sit down and eat and she stays composed, taking dainty bites until the cake is served. When she takes the first bite of the sweet creation the little moan of delight she gives makes his insides clench.

The desire to hear the sound under different circumstances, elicited by him and him alone is so strong he has to fist hands to stop from touching her, and he's already established he could definitely get used to to the feel of her skin against his palm or… other places.

She licks a bit of icing clinging to the bow of her top lip away, and he might be staring but can't stop himself. He comes to decision; he will at the very least kiss her before the night is over.

Skye chooses that very moment to come over. "Hey Grant, new partner? What happened to Morse?"

"Oh no, I'm not a police officer. Bobbi actually introduced us; she's my sister-in-law." Jemma jumps up. "I'm Jemma, the wedding has been lovely, I love your style, unique yet comfortable."

"Thank you!"

"Are the boots comfortable? I'm a doctor and spend a great deal of time on my feet, I love a good heel but not the pain involved."

"I'll let you know at the end of the night."

Skye's mother, Jiayang, soon corners him and he losses track of the conversation with Skye. Something about the fabric of Skye's dress being made of repurposed textiles. He watches as Jemma lights up and asks after the company.

"I'm always looking for eco-friendly scrubs and the like-"

Skye's mother is speaking, so he regretfully pulls his eyes away from Jemma. "You look happy. I'm glad I always only wanted the best for you; I'm only sad it couldn't be with Skye."

"It is what is." He shrugs, watching as Skye pulls Jemma across the room for God only knows what. "Ah shit no…" he mutters to himself and makes his way over to where Jemma is talking to Skye's father, Cal.

Cal Johnson is a brilliant plastic surgeon who literally pieces people back together. He's also a dismissive, elitist asshole who only tolerated Grant because of the weight the Ward name carries in hospital charity circles. Grant knows the other man thinks Grant is, for better lack of a term, stupid and low class.

-/-/-/-

*Bobbi: How's it hanging, Jem Jam?"

*Jem: You said he was attractive! That man is not merely attractive Bob! He's painfully good looking, It's unfair! How am I supposed to be a good girl when he's got cheek bones and arms like that?!

*Bobbi: Sweetie, you don't have to be good, that's the point of this! Be bad, Jem! You know you want to!

*Jem: You enabling enabler!

*Bobbi: I'm a true friend, sister.

*Jem: He's got great hands. You know hands are my thing!

*Bobbi: Tell him to put them on you. Just, you know, when shit gets real use condoms. He gets more tail than a rabbit trap.

*Jem: Bobs! Seriously?

*Bobbi: The best sex is safe sex! GTG! Lance is here with my soup.

*Jemma: Do not even so much as breathe on him! He's a monumental baby when ill and I will not mother him this time!

*Bobbi: Yes, you will! Have a fun rest of your night babe!

Before Jemma can type another response, she gets pulled into a conversation.

-/-/=

"The only reason I could halfway manage the grafting technique was due to the patient's refined vasculature and muscle definition. There was enough left to rebuild in the first place, any other bullet…." Jemma feels a hand plant itself on her hip and slide up to rest at the small of her back exposed by the sun dress. She turns to find Grant. "Oh, Hello. I didn't mean to abandon you, love. it's only that Skye made mention of her father and we recently shared a patient. I did the grunt work, and he came in on consult to make it look extra pretty."

"Nonsense, it was all very clean and well done. You left me little to do. Though do wonder why you chose the Hamlin technique over the Mauldon? We're undoubtedly talking over Grant's head, it's a reconstruction method, you can't possibly grasp." Jemma watches as Grant gets mowed over in the conversation.

"I didn't know which ammunition had been used, I merely made an educated guess. Though, Grant, is there any way, in your experience, you can tell the bullet used and the damage done?"

"Anything armor piercing will almost always undoubtedly kill, hollow points shred and then melt away in fragments, plain bullets aimed deadly will kill anyway. Different crime organizations have different sources and levels sophistication as well." He looks at her so oddly that her heart does a funny little lurch.

Cal's face looks like he's suddenly tasted something sour and Skye smiles unapologetic approval across from him, even as she's wrapped in her husband's embrace.

He offers Jemma his hand. "Wanna dance?" she nods and he pulls her out on to the floor to dance to the fun upbeat song.

He's spinning and turning, twisting her along to the tune while murmuring the words near her ear in a rapid fire manner. "Screen falling off the door door hanging off the hinges my feet are still sore my back is on the fringes. We tore up the walls we slept on couches. We lifted this house we lifted this house. Fire-crackers in the east my car parked south!"

For the first time in weeks, Jemma isn't stressed, she isn't frazzled and busy. She's happy. She goes with flow of the music and Grant's body and sings the words back at him.

"Your hands on my cheeks your shoulder in my mouth I was up against the wall on the west mezzanine. We rattle this town, we rattle this scene! O, Anna Sun!" something dark and heated crosses his face as she smiles breathlessly at him.

The fast song soon melts into a slow one by Kodaline she recognizes. It's got a dreamy melody and big booming drumbeat. She loves the ways the sweet lyrics speak about how that one person makes you feel and knowing they're the one.

Grant guides her around the floor with confidence, yet its intimate enough to make her feel they're the only ones in the tent. His arms are a comforting weight around her. His hand occasionally strokes up her bare back, leaving a trail of tingles in it's wake. The other hand holds hers, playing with her fingers lazily.

"Bobbi isn't going to let me live this down, you know?"

"Live what down?" he asks laughingly, the words slide along her trapezius and up into the curve her neck. She can't suppress the shiver the warmth of his breath cause as they continue to sway along the edges of the dance floor.

"How very right she was."

"There is that," he agrees with a tsk noise. "Who says she has to know?"

"My nature. I'm not good with deception and I like you. Likely more than I should," she confesses while looking up at him, feeling like that girl once again out of her league.

He does something that surprises her, without a word of reply. He leans down and, shoving the veil of her fascinator back, kisses her. It's a soft there and gone kiss that leaves the ball firmly in her court. His mouth hovers at the corner of hers but he makes no move one way or another.

She steps up on to her tip toes and kisses him back. His hand snakes around the side of her neck to hold her in place as he deepens the kiss. It's a languid, explorative kiss that leaves her lungs burning and her lips tingling.

Her skin prickles with goose bumps. "We're in public," she reminds him. It comes out in a hoarse, velvety tone, even to her own ears. All she gets in return is a predatory growl. He pulls her closer still, kisses the breath from her lungs again.

"Want to get out of here?" His tone is perfectly calm but there's a tension raging through him. One hand is splayed on her back, the other is fiddling with shoulder strap of her dress, like he's toying with the idea of snapping it.

"Everyone will know…" she says forcing herself to let go of the lapel of his jacket. In the course of that amazing kiss, she must have gripped them.

"Fuck everyone else's opinion. What's yours?"

"I want to be with you. I mean, wherever you want. Bollocks! Yes, let's leave."

-/-/-/-

She can't believe she's doing this. She, Jemma Simmons, has gone back to hotel with a man she's known for fewer than five hours, one apparently rich enough to rent a hotel penthouse in New York City.

"Ward's are like Kennedys, or so the papers say. Mostly we're entitled assholes. I try not to be but I like my luxuries afforded to me via inheritance," he says, noting her gob smacked expression as they pass the doorman on the way in.

Money talk is forgotten soon enough as he is a man with a very talented mouth and hands. He's leaving sucking and nipping kisses along the line of her neck as they move out of the elevator. The sensation is feeding a fire, kindled and fanned by her instant attraction to him. His hand insinuates its way up her skirt and between her thighs.

She tries to get the keycard in once, twice, and by the third time, his fingers are skimming over her underwear and she losses all concentration and gives up, whimpering pitifully into the wood grain of the door. He deftly plucks the card from her fumbling hand and swipes it through one the first try.

"Tosser," she mutters, shoving the door open. His only reply is a dark chuckle and pushing her knickers aside to rub at and push into her cunt.

He walks her backward through the door, nudging it shut without letting it up. It's a miracle she can stand, much less move at this point. He keeps them moving and pilots through the suite into the bedroom. She stops before a marble vanity, next to a floor to ceiling mirror. He angles her so she can everything he's doing to her.

Her skirt has gotten rucked up to her thighs and he's still got a hand buried between her legs. Her hair is a falling mess, her fascinator was lost somewhere between here and the door, and her lipstick is soundly kissed off. She catches his eyes as he kisses a trail back down her neck. There is a hungry, possessive gleam in them; it's almost dark but promises pleasure.

It's that look that makes her come the first time, gasping and arching into the sensation, fast and sharp as his finger hook perfectly inside her. It catches her off guard, yet she wants more, so much more.

She flushed and can't catch her breath as he slips his hand away from her body. "Jemma. Baby…" he toys with the strap of her dress.

"Hmm," she murmurs in desperation. She looks at him in the mirror. He's so collected it's bloody irritating.

"You might wanna grab on to the edge of the vanity."

He pushes the top her dress down, and then her underwear comes away with a loud rip. She's naked now all but for her shoes and the scrap of yellow fabric about her waist. He's still fully dressed and she's sure it says something about the power play but she can't even consider it. Not with the way he's looking at her as he palms her right breast and kisses along her jaw line. She turns her head to kiss him.

She can feel the head of him there at her entrance. She nods and he pushes in slowly. She gasps. Kissing him is odd at this angle, so she breaks away contents herself with grinding back into him only to have him push in again. She smirks at him as it slowly becomes a game. Each time goes harder and deeper until they are so far bent over the vanity table Jemma's breath fogs the glass of the mirror.

The only sounds in room are heavy breathing, the occasional groan and or curse, and the sound of skin meeting skin. She'd taken of his tie and unbuttoned his shirt in the elevator, and in the mirror she can see his chest is red and heaving as he hangs on tightly to control. She wonders, as he kisses down her spine, if anyone had ever taught him how to let go. She wants to make him lose control.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful, you know that," he groans as she feels her muscles start to flutter around him. She smiles and grinds back harder, clenching around him. His control finally slips and they both come so loudly Jemma's sure they're heard two city blocks away.

-/-/

He's fully awake but feigning sleep because she's laying half on top of him, watching him. He really likes the way her eyes feel on him. Though he can't see her face, he can feel an inkling of early morning shame in the way she's holding herself. He feels no shame. He'd wanted her, had her twice…he wants her again.

Her body, her skin, her kisses, and those sounds. Damn, those sounds. It had all been addicting but her high pitched keen as she came had dug in and twisted itself inside him. It would linger. She was going to linger, and he wanted that as much as his next breath.

She moves to slip out from his grasp. "Uh uh, nope," he mumbles, tightening his grip on her. Opening his eyes, he flips her beneath him in a swift motion. Her surprised little twitter of laughter makes him smile.

"No regrets are allowed in this room, only more sex." He ducks down to focus on what is quickly becoming his favorite spot on her neck even as he uses his knee to part her thighs.

"Is that right? Who says I regret anything?" she says conversationally, trailing a hand up into his hair to play and tug at it.

"Body language, sweetheart."

"Clearly you misunderstood, maybe you should re-read," she says, shifting beneath him. She opens her legs, settling him in the cradle of her hips.

*BBBZZTT*

"Fuck!" she swears. "That's my ER Beeper. I'm on call today." She kisses him quick and hard. "Sorry!"

Before he can even think to answer, she's rolling out from beneath him. He watches her cross the room naked in the early morning light. He takes note of the impressive hickey on the left side of her neck and matching ones that scatter down her back. There's beard burn on her hip bones and fingerprint-sized bruises on her inner thighs and ass cheeks.

He gotten carried away, but nothing had felt that right in ages. He loves to think that, under all the drab scrubs and clean white lab coat she'll have to put on, she'll carry his marks, little reminders of their encounters. He's got a few of his own, too. Scratches, bite marks, hickeys trailing his collar bone.

"Drexel! Hello, I was paged." She cocks her head over, smiling at him. "How many critical? Yes! I'm headed that way! Have my spares ready, please."

When she hangs up, it's his phone that rings.

"Ward! "

"Hey dude, you close to the station? Garrett is pissed. Intelligence unit found an in and we need an insider present. Someone to make sure the bust won't get jacked when we make it. We could send Morse if you're hung up," Mack says.

Yes, I'm close, I'll be there shortly. Don't send Morse. Calina thinks she's my girlfriend and, besides that, he's is a sexist fucker, she'll kill him."

"Hurry Dude, Garrett's pissy this morning. You'd think it was his ex that got hitched."

"I'm going," he says flatly before hanging up.

Grant and Jemma dress quickly and in silence, Jemma gets back into her dress, which is slightly disheveled. She clearly didn't plan on fucking him, and it gives him a little thrill watching her try and decide if you can tell she's has no panties on.

"You can't see anything, but if you want, I have boxers."

She only laughs. "I look absurd."

"You look beautiful." She rolls her eyes at him and they move out into the hall and rush into the elevator.

"I want to see you again," Grant says pushing the down button. She's standing so close her arm brushes his and he reaches down to trace a barely visible bruise at the base of her spine.

"I'm free Tuesday, if you want too-"

"I want to Jemma. I very much want to."

She smiles. stretching up on to her bare toes to kiss him. He pulls her close and sinks into it until the elevator door open and she breaks away, sneaking past him out the door to pull on her heels and stride as quickly as he does through the lobby.

"Tuesday it is!" And then she's gone, stepping quickly into a cab waiting for hotel guests.

Shit! He thinks, realizing suddenly that he doesn't have her number. He'll have to ask Morse. She's going to be fucking smug about this! He'll take it, take just about anything for a repeat of last night though. Jemma Simmons is something else. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he wants more.


	2. Crimes of Carnality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes Thanks to my beta Myranda. Also, there is some light completely consensual bondage going down in this chapter. I just wanted to post a quick trigger warning in case. If you like it please leave a comment!-MM

Jemma hurriedly shoves herself into her spare pair of scrubs, which happen to be an unfortunate shade of bubblegum pink. She wishes she could leave her hair down because it would hide the love bruise Grant left in his wake but she can't, for sterility purposes, so up it goes under her surgical cap as she strides onto the floor to get ready for the incoming patients.

Her brother and his rescue squad rolls in. "Train derailment coming your way, sis. "

"Lovely," she mutters.

"Fluids and a unit in, while in field. Tib and fib fracture likely needs amputation," an EMT rattles off as the first casualty is loaded off the ambulance.

"Got it! Call in Dr. Paul in ortho, type and cross six units, looks pretty free bleeding and I'll need to get him upstairs for exploratory and to see if anything is salvageable," Jemma orders, running along behind the gurney.

She passes Lance again on his way back out into the fray. "Where'd you get the hickey, Jemmie? Fitz finally man up and hit you with his best shot?"

She rolls her eyes. "Bye, Lance, be safe."

"We're talking about this," he shouts while walking backward away from her.

"Not now we're not!" Thankfully, the elevator closes just in time to cut off any protest he might have.

-/-/-

"You slept with him," Jemma hears Bobbi say, a simple statement of fact and not a question. Jemma crosses to the park bench where Bobbi is leaning back casually and sits primly on the edge. She pulls out a yogurt to eat on her quick break, and wonders why she thought it was a good idea to meet with Bobbi so soon after her date.

"I did, yes."

"Good for you, it was about time you let loose and had a little fun. And? Was it?" Bobbi asks, handing her one of the coffees.

"I'm not drunk enough for details, Bob." Jemma nervously stirs the fruit around in her yogurt cup.

Bobbi shrugs and juts her chin at Jemma. "The leftovers from the night kind of speak for themselves."

She self-consciously rubs at the mark curling up the side of her neck.

"Look, Jem, he asked me for your number and I gave it to him because you're a big girl who can make her own choices. " Bobbi cocks her head toward Jemma and sighs. "But I wouldn't be a good friend or sister if I didn't warn you that he's a bit of a player."

"Why set us up then?" Jemma can feel her brows quirking.

"Because it has been a long time since your last relationship, and you could use a little stress relief. And I'm not saying Grant's an asshole, I'm just saying this is a situation to be strictly physical. Just don't let your heart get involved, okay? Good sex is great, a broken heart? Not so much."

"Sounds fair, you know him better than I." She eats a bite of her yogurt and watches some kids scurry to the playground set in front of them, and wonders how drunk Bobbi will have to get her before she admits the sex isn't just great, it's mind-blowing. "Word of equally-friendly advice in return? If you still love Lance, and I think you do, forgive him. All Lance knows how to do is be…himself. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you and eventually the no strings? Is going to get all types of stringy and committed."

Bobbi sighs again, but doesn't get to respond because her radio crackles to life. "414 in progress. 2022 Zampler Street, any available units respond."

"Morse responding." Bobbi gets up and sprints to her car, but turns back to Jemma as she opens the door. "Just so you know, it might be a bit before Grant calls. He's undercover, and you know how that goes. But he'll call you, if only because I made him beg!" she calls over her shoulder.

"Stay safe!"

"Will do!" Bobbi nods, and then she's in her car and speeding off.

-/-/-/-

Grant shouldn't be thinking of Jemma now. It's not only inappropriate, it's potentially unsafe for him. Calina is literally making a deal at his shoulder, and yet Grant's mind can only wander toward Jemma. How she felt beneath him and the rhythm they created that seemed to settle some long restless part of him. He can practically see her arching up into her him, her mouth caught open on silent moan.

"Earth to Santoro," Calina calls impatiently.

"Hmm?" Grant knocks himself from his reverie, turning to look at Calina. The slick Italian drug dealer was quickly taking to Grant. He was sure to be made his second any day now, and then set to bring down the whole ring.

If he can get Jemma Simmons out of his head. That seems unlikely.

"I said help Peters in distribution."

He nods an affirmative.

-/-/-

Jemma's text message notification blares right before she goes to scrub in to pull the bullet from the gut of a ruffian.

*Grant: I want to see you. I might miss you a little.

Jemma can't help her goofy grin as she types a reply. Her scrub nurse may be staring at her in open fascination.

*Jemma: That's sweet, but I don't have a day off until Tuesday! Didn't anyone ever tell you good things come to those wait?

*Grant: Better things come to those who just take what they want ;)

She can't argue that and has really no desire to do so.

Jemma: Is that right? What do I get if I let you take what you want?

*Grant: Let me show you, I'll pick you up when your shift is up.

*Jemma: I'm about to head into surgery, should take about four hours. Should be about ten hours before I'm back on shift.

*Grant: I'll swing by to pick you up. But I'm under, so for your safety, in case I'm watched, I can't break character. Expect a cocksure thug who looks just like me.

*Jemma: Sounds interesting and a bit fun! See you in a few hours, I'm needed in surgery.

-/-/-/-

When he pulls up to the emergency exit, he's excited, his eyes already hungry for the sight of her. It's only been twenty-four hours. He's almost afraid of what happens when she digs deeper into him over time. She's already under his skin without even trying.

She steps through the automatic doors, her head down, texting someone.

"Hey doc, good day?" Her head whips up and he wants to chase the smile lighting her face with his own lips. Despite that, there's a tension set into her delicate shoulders and tiredness pulling at the edges of her eyes. He's not sure how he knows, and he doesn't analyze it but he just knows she's had a long, hard day.

He swings himself off the bike and lopes almost carelessly over to her. He smiles cockily at her, hoping she remembers last night well enough to know that the character he's keeping up with in case he's being followed is more ballsy than Grant but that everything in correlation to Jemma is all him.

He pulls her up on to her sneaker-bedecked toes and plants a hard kiss on her mouth. It's possessive and deep, with an inappropriate slide of tongue and just a nip of teeth.

She returns it fully, wrapping her arms around his neck, yanking him so close she's got him wishing they were naked as her breasts press into his chest. With one hand, he reaches up to tug her ponytail and angle her head back so he can speak against the mark he left on her neck. The other hand grips her ass.

"I shouldn't be seeing you now, but damned if can't stay away." He says it lowly so it's not easily picked up on any listening devices.

"We're good. I promise." Her voice breathy. It's her who kisses him this time, and it's got him remembering just how talented her mouth is and just how and where he wants it next.

The only thing that parts them is a low whistle from a passerby.

"Sod off, Fitz!" Jemma calls out playfully, then nods to the bike idling behind them. "You going to take me somewhere on that death trap parked in the fire zone?"

"Any place you want, baby."

She cocks her head up at him with mischievous glint in her in her eyes. "Somewhere quiet and private."

-/-/-

Jemma's never been on the back of a motor cycle. Her brother's reckless streak had come firmly from his father's side. The bike's vibrations sing up her thighs and into her center, and all of the soreness that had settled into her body from last night changes into something more comfortable.

She's surprised to find herself turned on.

Between the bike and the way holding on to Grant makes her feel, it will be a miracle if she isn't a lust riddled puddle by the time the ride ends.

-/-/-

He's questioning the wisdom of bringing the bike to pick up Jemma. Yes, it fits his cover quite well, but she's distracting in the best damned ways. Her arms are tight around his waist and her breasts are firmly pressed into his back.

She starts a creeping journey beneath his shirt halfway to their destination. Her fingers are cold but he doesn't care as she traces the lines of his abs and down to the waist of his jeans. Her hands in proximity to his cock has him half hard in about three and a half seconds. Then her nails scratch back up to his abs and he shivers even as his cock presses painfully to the fly of his jeans.

His control snaps like a twig under a boot when her fingers trip back down his abs and linger on the button of his jeans and slip lower to outline the line of his hard on over the denim fabric of his jeans.

If her name slips from lips in strangled desperation, at least the helmet saves him a little dignity as she can't hear it. He whips into a long alley way bookended by dumpsters the first chance he gets.

When he pulls his helmet off and swings around to face her, she's carefully removing hers with steady hands.

"I didn't mean-"

He cuts off her apology by tugging her in for a bruising kiss, forcing her to comply or be pulled under by his insistence.

She tastes like cinnamon gum, like home, like she's his.

"You're a fucking tease," he mutters against her half open mouth as she tries to regain her breath.

"You like it," she counters, damned sure of herself. She laughs a little. "Now get off the bike."

The devilish glittering in her eyes makes him smile and has his blood singing with endorphins.

"You'll enjoy it I promise," she continues when he makes no move to obey.

He does as she bids, against his better judgement. Then he helps her from the bike and lets her back him to the brick wall behind them, lets her distract him with teasing kisses.

Her hands go to his fly with no hesitation. She undoes the button dragging the zipper down.

"Jemma…" he grits out, unsure if he's begging her to stop or to continue.

She takes him in her delicate-looking hand, strong and cool on his shaft. The quick, firm up and down motion has his breath backing up in his lungs. He raps his head back on the brick wall on her down stroke but not hard enough to knock any sensible thought back into his head, because all he does is groan his encouragement and watch in anticipation as she sinks to her knees.

"Jemma, you know who I work for, we can't just-" he attempts, halfheartedly at best. Chances of getting caught are slim, but the idea of the dressing down he'd get at the precinct even if he did sell it as part of the cover if they did…

"I want too."

And damned if he can deny her.

If he thought her hands were talented, her mouth on him is in a whole other league. She surrounds him, all wetness and warmth. At first she concentrates on the head, swirling and flicking her tongue in a pattern he can't work out. She keeps up a deep suction that has him seeing stars and spilling out a string of words he's not really paying attention to.

She picks up a pace she seems to like, but he's not going to last long. Not when she's doing that tongue flicking thing again. He can feel his orgasm tingling at the base of his spine as his balls draw up.

"Fuck, Jem… you gotta stop. I'm close."

She hums as if to ask if it feels good, and does it ever. The little hum vibrates through him, around him, She's everywhere. Then, like she knows it's just what he needs, she looks up at him, all doe-eyed and sweet, before winking at him playfully and taking to the back of her throat. He's done for.

He comes so fast it hurts, twists up his insides and burns through him. He can't stop it and she only intensifies her suction on him as she rides it out.

When she releases him, his knees are wobbly, and his vision, having greyed out seconds ago, returns to normal.

He watches as she swallows deliberately. He tugs on the ponytail he hadn't realized he'd caught hold of and she stands and he kisses her deeply. Tasting himself on her tongue makes him both barbarically happy and wildly possessive.

He slips his hand into her loose-fitting scrubs and finds her bare. Oh yeah, he'd ripped her panties off last night. He feels a swell of cocky pride knowing she'd walked around all day commando. She's so wet, she drips onto his fingers as they press in and hook and his thumb finds her clit to get her off just enough to take off the edge, but still keep her close enough to want to be underneath him.

Apparently sucking him off had really done it for her because all it takes is a few strokes before she's careening over the edge, shaking against him and breathing sharply in his ear.

"Get on the bike before I take you in this alley," he commands.

"Okay," she says a little a shakily from the rush of endorphins.

He kisses her again, this time softly. "When I repay you in kind? I can promise you'll lose your voice and the ability to remember your own name."

He lets her go and does up his jeans to remount the bike.

She doesn't move. Looking momentarily lost. "You comin', baby?"

She nods and hurriedly hops on.

-/-/-

Jemma has no idea why she just did that, other than she likes the way he treats her, like a woman, not some delicate, breakable girl with only science to make her appealing. It makes her feel braver, more herself and yet totally different all at once. She feels like he sees all of her and doesn't find her lacking. It's freeing, and the sexual chemistry between them is off the charts and fantastically satisfying.

She's should still be careful, she knows. He didn't get that good at sex by accident. She needs to keep this easy, fun, safe, and commitment-free. It's probably best: Bobbi doesn't needlessly coddle Jemma the way Lance does. Bobbi said it because she'd meant it, and Jemma can't ignore the warning.

Grant pulls up to a hotel; it's not a total dive but it is definitely a far cry from the penthouse he took her to after Skye's wedding, and she's reminded that he's living a cover at the moment. They dismount the bike and head for a ground level room with clear sight lines.

She leaves it to him to open the room up this time. It's relatively small, and set up like a small bachelor for long-term stays. There's a king-sized bed with a cheap brass bed frame. A small kitchenette with a bar fridge and hot plate. A table spread out with files, and guns, magazines of ammo. His bullet proof vest is hung on the back of a chair. Before she considers that more, he's on her, kissing her remarkably slower and softer than when he picked her up.

They undress each other this time. His eyes and mouth make a maddeningly slow visitation too every little mark he'd left behind. When he pauses on the stubble burn riding on her hips, she holds her breath.

He backs her into the closest bedpost. She grips it tightly. She watches as kneels before her, stripped to the waist. When he lifts her left leg over his shoulder she gets a glance at the mean-looking scratches she'd left decorating his back. She should feel bad. And she does – she's a doctor and do no harm is ingrained - but a little another part of her loves that she left a few relics of last night as well.

She doesn't have long to think on it, though, as he dips down goes to work. And holy fuck, she hopes this room is more soundproof than it looks because she is so going to scream. A lot. It's a flurry of plundering fingers and nipping teeth, it builds and builds until she can't remember what she ate for breakfast or why her day was so taxing.

She flat out stops thinking, and caring, focused only on feeling. And it feels indescribable.

He just keeps going, his tongue alternates between lapping at her juices and pressing in on her clit. As if from far away, she hears herself begging nonsensically. "Please, please, fuck, I need too…. I don't know, just don't stop."

He brackets her hips without breaking contact with her body. The first orgasm rolls through her gently, then he sucks on her clit so insistently that it trips an orgasm so sharp that she loses her grip on the bedframe and falls forward, bracing herself on his shoulders. She does, in fact, scream. His name, nonetheless.

He doesn't stop, lets her ride it out like a wave meeting a shore.

"Unh…oh god," she says when she can breathe again. "That was…it felt…fantastic. You took away my ability to form words."

He scoops her up and plants her on the still unmade bed. "My pleasure, baby."

She lays blissed out across the bed, watching him strip down. He takes a pair of cuffs off from his back holster and set them on the nightstand. He's undoing his boots and toeing them off and then stripping out of the tight jeans when she sits up.

"You ever used those things during sex?" She nods to the cuffs.

"No, why?" His eyebrows hike high on his forehead at the question.

"I'd let you, if you wanted too. I'd trust you."

"What are you saying?" He steps purposefully to the bed, already half hard again.

"You want to hear the words, then, love?" She leans up on to her elbows. "Use them on me."

Something dark passes through his eyes.

"Only if you want…" she says, as he suddenly became unreadable and she starts to withdraw.

"I want." He snatches them up. "Fuck, you're going to ruin me."

She can't help the smile of female triumph curling her lips. He crawls up on to the bed, mantling himself over her. He kisses her deeply. "These aren't exactly meant for comfort, so I'll keep one hand free this time so you have some control. If you need to stop, just say it. Alright, Jemma?"

"Cuff me," she demands.

"Jemma," he counters insistently.

"I understand, Grant."

He clicks one cuff over her left wrist.

"Excuse me, officer, but aren't you meant to tell me what I'm charged with?" She plays innocent, blinking up at him.

He laughs, kissing her. "It's detective, baby. I could charge you with lewd public acts, driving me to insanity. And those hands should be a crime, not to mention the way your accent curls around my name right before you come should be illegal. Take your pick." He snaps the cuff closed and loops the other one around a bed post. "Okay?"

"Perfect."

He starts by kissing a wonky line across her clavicles and down her chest. He pauses to take her left breast into his mouth and peaking the nipple with his tongue. He nips the underside of her breast before switching sides and she drags her freehand through his hair and then holds him place.

When he's done there, the trail of fire he's creating moves downward over her stomach and back up. He's kissing her again as he shoves his fingers into her cunt. When he pulls away, he bites her lower lip.

"You're gorgeous, flushed, well fucked, and completely mine. So beautiful," he whispers in Italian, and it has the tension he's causing with his hand to intensify. She whimpers impatiently.

"Thank you, hurry up," she returns in crisp Italian. She doesn't think her mother intended her Rosetta Stone tutorials to be used in that manner but she does not care in the slightest at that moment.

There's a short bark of laughter and "but of course" in reply.

He pushes her heels up toward her butt, brackets his arm around her waist and shoves in. It's so forceful she can't breathe but it feels exquisite. She tries to snap her hips up to meet him but his grip is like steel.

She can feel him so deep inside that it has restless desire rolling in her belly. The pace he sets is hard, nearly punishing, like she's paying an atonement for her his made up crimes and she loves it. It goes on, and on. She grips the chain with her right hand to strain against the hand cuffs, trying to match him, the bed creaking in time like a dirty song. When the cuffs don't give, she grapples with the sheets before grabbing a hand full of his hair to yank his mouth back to hers. The kiss is filthy and gratifying. Her cry, as she comes like lighting has struck her, is swallowed up in his kiss.

When her orgasm grips him, his rhythm stutters, though he tries to keep it up. She kisses him with every bit of the passion she feels with him inside her and, when she bites his bottom lip, he comes with a muttered "fucking hell" into her hair.

-/-/-

He isn't usually the type to stare at woman as she sleeps, because, well, it's super creepy and invasive. But Jemma is this fun mystery he never saw coming and he's dying to figure her out. To know every little thing he can, from how she takes her coffee to exactly what gets her off quickest. He got more data on the latter now but he wants the former so much more than is healthy at this stage, or than he ever has with any woman before her.

After he'd loosed her from the cuffs, she'd curled against him, contented and warm. She had fallen right to sleep as she lay with her head on his shoulder. He's slept a while too, remarkably soundly with her in his arms, but he's usually up by now to work out and the habit dies hard. A dreamy smile floats on Jemma's lips and he wants to kiss it. He settles for tracing it with his finger tip and she stretches against him into wakefulness. She looks up at him with soft, sleepy eyes.

"Hey, love."

"Hey. Sweet dreams?" She nods pressing kiss to his shoulder. "Why were you having a bad day, yesterday?"

"It doesn't matter. Being with you fixed it." She tries to brush him, off casting her eyes down.

"And I'm glad, still… tell me."

She sighs. "I can't always win. I'm good at what I do, but I still lose and then people die. It was a losing day, is all. Then my brother, though sweetly protective and quite loving, he just… is thoughtless at times. We have a rule: he drops into my hospital or calls me between fires so I know he's safe. He forgot to call after a rather involved one. And I worried."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, fiddling with a lock of her hair. She responds by looking at the blank-screened TV, but she leans into the touch, much to his enjoyment.

"Don't be, it comes with territory, all of it. I'll be okay." The simple acceptance of Hunter's inconsideration bothers him. A lot. He'll have to talk to Bobbi.

She turns her attention solely to him. "How was your day?" she returns.

"You were the highlight, most definitely. How do you take your coffee?"

"Black, like my heart," she jokes.

"As if that's possible. Want to go get some breakfast?"

"I know a place that makes the best banana chocolate chip pancakes."

"I'm game." He angles her head up for a kiss and it starts again.

-/-/-

At a very late breakfast, he starts learning little things. Her favorite sweets are white chocolate truffles. She'd chosen to become a doctor after helplessly watching her father die of ALS. She has a standing date to watch The Walking Dead with Hunter; she's not much on the gore but she likes the social experiment aspects of the show and the sheer will to survive. She also has a wicked sense of humor and her laugh is as addicting as the rest of her. He's falling…fast and hard.

Jury is out on if he'll fight it or let nature take its course. Everyone has to fall desperately in love at least once. It's probably going to be her either way, unrequited or spoken.

-/-/-

As he helps her on the bike for the ride back to her place, he spots a bruise looping her left wrist. "Sorry." He lifts her hand to kiss the darkest spot.

She shrugs. "Just a little souvenir." And she smiles brightly.

He so completely fucked. It's not remotely funny. He's sunk.


	3. Synchronized Sinning

Bobbi is only half-listening to her ex rant, but it's enough to make her roll her eyes.

"So then the douchebag rolls up on his Harley and dumps her off! No way that was Fitz, either," Lance says as if she was about to make the ludicrous suggestion. "Too tall and built to be Fitz, or even Sunil, that backstabbing fucker. Mystery douche doesn't even walk her to the door. Doesn't kiss her good bye. Just drives off, the cunt!"

"Well, did you ask her about it?"

"Of course I bloody well asked her Bob! She's my baby sister."Lance throws the blankets off, getting to his feet. "You wanna know what she said?"

"Sure ,why not?" Bobbi shrugs, watching as Lance's eyes fix on her chest when the sheet falls an inch or two. He knocks himself back to reality when she blinks up at him unfazed and waiting for reply.

"She said 'I'm merely having mind-blowing sex with a man whose company I enjoy'." He yanks on his black jeans.

"She used the term mind-blowing?"

"Don't be vulgar and make me relive it, Bob," he pouts, pulling on his shirt.

"Fine, whatever. Lance, she's a grown woman and she's had rough go of it relationship-wise. Yes, she is utterly brilliant and beautiful but it makes people see her as untouchable and not relatable. And not everything needs to be about relationships." She looks at him pointedly. "Besides, honey, everyone deserves good sex and pancakes. Even your baby sister. Now make me pancakes or be gone."

He smiles affectionately. "Bitch. I am not your slave."

"We both know you are," she retorts as he leans over the bed to kiss her.

"Maple bacon?"

"Yes."

"You owe me a blowy, minimum!" he calls as he walks toward the kitchen.

"Handy and that's final."

-/-/-

Grant did not expect to miss Jemma; sure, the sex was so good it made his eyes cross, but he misses her. It honestly surprises him the speed with which it began. One minute she was just a blind date Morse foisted on his, and the next she's something he's not ready to define.

Both she and the sex are definitely something he craves beyond all reason. As a doctor, he'd bet Jemma would say it has something to do with pheromones or dopamine or some shit, but it he thinks it might run deeper than that.

He hasn't touched or seen her in two weeks, hasn't even be able to send her a text because Calina's current second has had eyes and ears on him as he gets closer to the crime lord. The lack of her is getting to him. She's in the back of his thoughts almost constantly, and not all of them are dirty, though the ones he's having now certainly are.

He's half hard just thinking about bubbly little laugh during sex, and how very different her polite proper British girl chuckle is from the real thing. The thought of her laughter leads to her smiles, especially the one he likes the taste of, a barely-there smirk that is lightening quick.

His mind then wanders to that dirty, half-lit alley, the last night he'd had with her. To when he kissed her, tasted himself still lingering on her tongue. He envisions the heat of her mouth on him, that insistent pull and lithe tongue, until he's no longer in the tiled shower stall. He's somewhere else entirely as he takes himself in hand. Now fully hard, he tugs downward, but it's not right. His hands are too big, callouses in the wrong places, and he's not nearly as deft as she is.

Images of her flash before his closed eyes: the pale column of her neck, her straining against the cuffs and pulling at his hair. He'd never cared for having his hair pulled in bed until her. Then there's the memory of kissing her with his eyes open, and the heat in her eyes as he watched her face.

A few quick twisting strokes and he's well on his way to completion.

It's those eyes that finally do him in, the reminder of the way she'd looked up at him from her knees as she'd taken him all in, in that alley. It has him coming, fast and messy on the shower wall, a groan caught betweenhis gritted teeth. He sags against the tile, pulling in a couple lung fulls of air. It felt good, but nowhere near as satisfying as the sex with Jemma is. He'd never met a woman capable of ruining masturbating for him, never thought it was possible. Then again, he'd had never met anyone like Jemma.

He really doesn't have time for it today, and Calina will be inconvenienced, but he's got to find a way to see her and get his fix without compromising his cover, or he'll be useless.

-/-/

The sex with Grant had been unbelievable but when she goes weeks without hearing a peep, begrudgingly admits Bobbi is right it is best she guards her heart and not let him fully in.

He makes it difficult, though, when he shows up in her ER with a takeout bag and wildly seductive smile.

"Wanna have lunch?"

"Wanna fuck like rabbits in the backseat of my car?" she quickly translates in her mind. She doesn't even know what he's driving today but hell, yes she wants too. But she can't.

"I'd love to, Grant, but I have an Ex-lap and a whipple, back to back. I just can't."

He shrugs. "Doc hours are as crazy as cop hours, I get it. Guess I gotta get used to it if I'm gonna date a doctor, don't I?" She's doesn't have time to argue his loose application of the word dating - what they are doing is screwing each other's brains out, the terms hardly applies - but before she can argue, he's leaning across the desk and anchoring his hand on the back of her neck to pull her in for a kiss that has her toes curling.

He sets the food up on the counter. "Remember to eat, alright, baby?"

"Yeah. Okay," she mumbles and nods, surprised.

"I'll be seeing you Jem, real soon."

It sounds like both a promise and threat and really turns her on, which she doesn't have time for. But then he's gone, enveloped into the current of the crowd.

Her little flirty texts of "Thinking of you." and "Hope you're safe." go unanswered, later, as does one of her more brazen ones. "Just passed a brass bed in Macy's needless to say, you and those cuffs came to mind."

She gets no reply. She supposes he's gotten his fill or found someone else to occupy his time. She deletes his number with a tiny pang of regret after weeks of radio silence. Then she reminds herself that they made no promises to each other and moves on, though she does make a sympathetic Bobbi promise to update her if – and only if – something went wrong while Grant was undercover.

-/-/-

After a rather trying day filled with complex procedures, Jemma is more than happy to curl up on the couch with her DVD of "Jericho" and glass of wine. She's watching raptly as they deal with another catastrophe in the radiation-blasted Kansas town when her phone vibrates across the glass of her coffee table.

She distractedly grabs it, eyes glued to the tv.

She looks down. The text causes a little squeak of surprise.

*UNKNOWN: Do you know how distracting it is to look at everything in front of me and see the many ways I could bend you over, or press you to any surface, and fuck you senseless?"

She racks her brain for what man might have been encouraged into sending message and can only come up with one source. One very awkward source. She pauses the show and types a reply.

*Jemma: Look Sunil, I don't mean to be unkind but I don't know how else to say this again and get my point across. I am not interested in pursuing a relationship. We are better off as friends.

*UNKNOWN: I've got no idea who that is but I agree, you should just be friends!

She snorts back a laugh.

*Jemma: Who is this?"

*UNKNOWN: Grant. Hey baby, I was just thinking dirty thoughts about you.

*Jemma: Oh. I hadn't heard from you, so I figured you lost interest.

*UNKNOWN: Undercover and still very interested. Sorry, baby. I thought Morse would have briefed you on deep cover. I don't have a lot of time as Grant – or with Grant's phone. But when I do, baby… well like I said. I'm interested.

Jemma takes a breath, contemplates her phone for a long moment. Then makes a decision.

*Jemma: Well, then. Until you have the chance to freshen my memory as to how interested you are in person… what is it you're currently bending me over?

She returns and then switches "Unknown" to "Grant" again and hits save.

*Grant: It started with a very inconveniently-timed vision of you folded in half over a leather armchair. I was at work and all could hear or see was you.

*Grant: You bent, with your pert ass in the air in invitation and that breathy little noise you make when you're close. I barely zoned back in, in time."

*Jemma: Poor you. ;)

*Grant: Then I was at the drive thru and pictured pressing you tits first into the hood of my car. I had those pretty pink scrubs of yours half ripped off and down around your ankles, screaming my name as you scrambled for something to grip on the car hood.

Her mouth goes drier than the Mojave.

*Jemma: Anything else?

*Grant: Everything else. Even heading to the ice machine, I imagined having you over the maid's cart. Clearly things took a turn there. So when I lost my tail long enough to get my phone, I thought I'd text you. So you know that, just because I can't touch you, doesn't mean you aren't on my mind. Vividly.

*Jemma: Well, I doubt the maid's cart is all that comfortable, but I might be strongly in favor of shagging on the car. And if you let me drive? The hood, the boot, the front seat…. Owner's choice, so to speak.

*Grant: I'll choose carefully.

*Jemma: Do.

*Grant: Fuck, baby. My other phone's going, and it isn't a call I can ignore. But I'll text or see you when I can.

Jemma is left uncomfortably turned on as he is drawn back to his job, but cannot question that she is incredibly happy to learn he is still attracted to her. Perhaps their spectacular sex is only going to occur sporadically, but it isn't as though she was expecting or needing a relationship, or that she isn't busy in her own right. She's having fun for now and she can keep her heart safe so they'll part friends when the arrangement no longer works for one of them. So what does it hurt to carry on the current course?

/-/-

its juvenile and way below Jemma's skill set, but he really wants to see her so he'd specifically asked for her for this.

"Mr. Santoro." Jemma pulls the current back, still looking at his mocked up file. "It says here you've maintained a possible hand fracture. I must say I'm curious as to why you asked for my expertise on something ortho would better…" She finally looks up. "Serve." She finishes on a whisper, and he makes the cut gesture with his uninjured hand before she can say his name, jerking his head toward the underling Calina sent with him, outside.

She whips the curtain closed.

" Are you alright? Let me look." He offers his injured , taking in the searching look in her brown eyes. Her bottom lip is trapped fretfully between her teeth in contrast in the confidence in her grasp.

"What did you?" she accuses. "And your face, too?"

He grins. He had let Mancini get in a few licks to make it look good. "You should see the other guy."

"Mindy," she addresses the nurse currently stealing curious glances at the pair of them. "I want films of this hand, and someone from plastics to look at this head lac." She doesn't look away from him. "Did you lose consciousness? Do you have any injuries I can't see? I'll get a full torso film, too. What did you do?"

"A minor brawl, I can move my hand fine, it doesn't feel broken. Just glue the wound together, baby. I'm fine."

"I'm still getting films," she says firmly and he's not going to fight her on it for now.

"I just wanted to see you," he pitches his voice low so his tail can't hear. He told Calina he had a doctor who could keep things quiet, but it's better if the Italian is under the impression that she's just an occasional side piece.

"I'll get those orders in, Doctor Simmons." Mindy leaves, as if she senses her presence isn't wanted.

"Are you crazy?" Jemma hisses in her wake. He ignores the question as she snaps the curtain back closed behind Mindy with an angry little jerk.

"Jemma."

He stands and she turns. "What? Did you taste copper? Did your ears ring?"

He backs her to the wall to the left of a sink and towel dispenser. He puts his hands on either side of her head, effectively trapping her with his body. He sees the glimmer of desire in her eyes. "I'm fine. I just came to do this, because I don't know when I'll be able to next." With that he leans in, nuzzling her nose with his before kissing her softly.

He tries to pull away but she hums and follows him by standing on her tip toes. Her hands fist in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as she angles his head down and prolongs the kiss. She sucks on the tip of his tongue. She has desire stabbing through him. He's holding on to his sanity with his fingertips. He huffs a laugh into her mouth, kissing her in return so hard that he forces her to bend back into the corner.

They only part out of sheer need for air.

"When I get your under me again," he whispers against her temple as he presses a kiss there, "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you see stars."

A little shiver runs through her. "I look forward to the day." She smirks up at him, giving his chest absent pat like she is drunk on him. Good. At least he won't be the only one affected by this.

He pecks her chastely on the lips, knowing he'd better leave before he fucks her into the wall.

"Be seein' you, baby," he says in Santoro's smug voice. He snatches the Dermabond off her stitching kit.

"Be careful. For me. I mean I've no right to ask," she says so softly he doesn't worry about the tail, since he barely hears her himself.

"Yes, you do," he says, locking eyes with her. "I can and will be careful. For you. I promise."

She nods and he drops a quick kiss to her forehead before shifting back into Santoro's swagger to walk about of the exam area, but not before winking and blowing her a kiss in full view of his tail.

-/-/

It's been three days since Grant had literally stolen a kiss and sauntered out the door. The memory had been a talisman today, a hard, long one filled with horrific traumas and too many losses. The only thing Jemma wants to do is sleep for days. But she doesn't have days, she only has tonight before she's back on shift, so she'll have to make the best of it.

She showers and gets into her softest pajama pants and a NYFD shirt she'd stolen from her brother. The letters are worn from so many washings and there's an oblong hole about the width of a quarter in the collar, but it makes her feel, somehow, like she's keeping Lance safe.

She's quickly relaxed by the softness of her bed. She's drifting on the edge of sleep when her phone rings. She should turn it off when she's not on call, but her concern for her favorite firefighter and cops keeps her from ever doing it.

She answers it blindly, not even bothering to crack open her eyes.

" 'Ello?" she whispers tiredly.

There's a smile in the returning voice. "Hey, baby, in bed already?"

"Yeah. Long, stressful and terrible day."

"Too long and terrible to end it talking to me?"

She shifts in the bed, tucking her phone to her ear while she gets herself propped up against the headboard.

"Never…"

"Good, because I have plans for you."

She's feeling suddenly much more awake at his use of a lower, huskier tone. It's the tone he uses when he's promising dirty things.

"You do, huh?"

"You'll definitely feel much better when I'm done."

She bites her lip, before quietly admitting, "Grant, I've never done this. I might be bad at it."

"With the sex we have? That would be impossible. Trust me, I know how to get you where you're going. Can you do what I say?"

She hums in agreement, warming up to the idea. "I don't even know how to start."

"Baby, we've already started." He laughs a little. "In fact, I bet you're doing that thing where clench your thighs in anticipation…"

She whines because, damn him, he's right. "Put your phone on speaker and take your top off." The command sends shiver of want down her spine.

She hurries to comply. "I've… I've taken my top off," she says, a bit breathless.

"Good girl. Now your pants, baby. Slowly. Leave your panties."

"Okay," she says. The soft material makes an agonizing path down her legs.

"Now lay back on your bed, baby."

Lying back on the cool sheets has her remembering the way his hands map out the lines of her ribs and tracing down her spine. It makes her breath catch in her throat as she settles in, knowing already this is going to be very, very good.

-/-/-

He hears her breath hitch. He leans his back against the cool tile of the shower stall, the water running in case Calina has bugs in his hotel room.

"Jemma? Did you start without me?" he teases, aiming the shower spray at his crotch. He hopes the hot water will help with the physical lack of Jemma's warmth seeping into his skin or sinking down over him.

"No," she says, the gathers up her courage. "I was just thinking of the last time. How your hands on my skin. On my breasts."

"Fuck, baby. Can you touch them for me?"

He hears a rustle and another hitch of her breath. "What are you doing, baby?" He coaxes. "Tell me what you are doing, how it feels."

"I'm… I'm playing with my nipples, wishing it was your mouth…"

He strokes himself from base to tip, twisting at the end to hold himself in check.

"It feel good, baby?"

It's not enough," she whimpers. "Please…"

He's impossibly turned on knowing she is waiting for permission to touch herself.

"You can start touching yourself, baby. Just lightly, slow circles on your clit."

"A little faster and harder. How wet are you for me, sweetheart?" He smirks when she doesn't answer right away. "Jemma?"

"I'm… I'm so wet, love. For you. Just for you."

He groans, stroking himself a little more firmly before telling her to slip her fingers into herself, urging her to keep her thumb circling her clit in time with his strokes. He waits and can hear moans steadily hear her moans getting quicker and desperate. He uses some shower soap for lube and picks up his pace to stay in step with Jemma.

"Not yet, baby," he pleads through gritted teeth when she makes that noise that means she's close. He can picture her rubbing restlessly at her clit and arching against the bed.

"Why?" Her voice cracks and her desperation claws at his insides.

"Slow down. I'm not going anywhere baby, tell me what it feels like, what are you thinking about?"

"I'm so…" she mumbles.

"You're what? Tell me everything, baby. You're doing so good."

"It feels like all my nerve endings are on fire, it's right there… but I can't. It's not what I want, not truly. I'm used to it rougher now, being stretched wider, by you." He envisions her fingers thrusting and twisting her hips bucking up into her hand.

He can feel his orgasm building. His pulse is pounding, and he's so hard his vision whites out as he gets closer and closer with every pull and sliding stroke on his cock. He swallows thickly. "Fuck… you're something, Jem. What are you thinking about, when it's your hand on not mine inside you?"

"I'm thinking about that first time, how you kissed down my back as you pushed into me, and the way you looked like you wanted too…. ahhh…. explode."

"You were so damned beautiful. Always so damned beautiful. In that alley, even. That's what I think about, when I'm not fucking your brains out… I think about the alley and how warm your mouth felt pulling me in, deeper and deeper, fuck your smile…. You know exactly the power you hold."

"Fucking hell, please, Grant… Are you?"

"Still right here with you baby. Crook your fingers inward and press up, slide forward just a little."

Her half-choked off scream, and it is a scream this time, tears right through him and his orgasm rolls through him and keeps on going.

"Grant, breathe, love. No one can hear you but me, "she coaxes him into letting it happen rather than holding back as he often does, with his need to always be in control.

"Unh, Jesus," he croaks out.

With Jemma there is anything and everything but control involved.

-/-/-

She lays there both spent and relax listening to Grant's breathing even out. Then she laughs, giddy.

"Well, you are right. I am markedly more relaxed and feeling rather good, though I feel it must be said, for the record, nothing is better than the real thing."

"Can't argue there," he chuckles back and she is a bit proud that he sounds almost as winded as she is.

"This may sound petulant, but why aren't you here, fucking my brains out?"

He laughs loudly in her ear. "As I get a debrief date, Jem. Miss me, baby?"

"Well I can't help it, you have bewitched me." She knows she sated and happy, and has no doubt he knows how close she is to falling asleep by tone alone..

"Body and soul?" She's sure he's teasing her again, so she answers back lightly.

"Definitely body, soul... we'll see."

-/-/- "Did you seriously have to roll up on Grant's Harley? Now Lance is convinced you're getting your skull tattooed and having sex in needle-strewn alleys." Bobbi sips her wine and leans back on Jemma's couch.

"You know I hate pain I'd never get a tattoo, "Jemma says without looking up from her needlepoint. Bobbi picks up the scarf she is crocheting for Jemma's mother at their weekly craft night. "And are we going to continue to pretend that you aren't still having sex with my brother?"

"So you are still sleeping with Grant?"

"Ah, yes to the pretending. And also yes, I'm still having sex with him. In more ways than one."

"I don't follow." Bobbi quirks a brow up at her. "Details, Jem-Jam."

"Share your wine, I need it to tell you details, you know that."

Bobbi hands her glass over and Jemma gulps down some liquid courage, saying it all at once. "There was the blow job in the alley, and asking him to cuff me to the bed. And then a few days ago we had phone sex."

"You let him what? And you what in the alley?"

"Don't be judgey! I don't get all over you for whatever depraved things you do with Lance despite the divorce!"

Bobbi smiles around the rim of her returned and replenished wine glass while Jemma refills her own. "I'm not." She laughs. "I make a damn fine match, huh?"

"On occasion," Jemma allows, starting again on her tiny even stitches. Bobbi is just about to ask for more details when the doorbell rings.

"I got it." Bobbi drops her wool on the couch and gets up. She looks through the peephole and there stands Ward, hands in his jeans pockets, staring patently ahead. When she swings the door open, she watches the bright smile intended for Jemma fade at the sight of her. It warms a tiny place in her heart.

"Oh my friend, you got it bad, don'tcha?" she whispers in delighted surprise. She's never seen her partner look like that over any woman before, and she's starting to rethink her warnings about her partner.

Ward sighs impatiently. "Is Jemma here?"

Bobbi nods wordlessly. "What debauchery do you need her for now? It's girl's night."

"You'll be cutting that short, trust me."

"Bob, who's there? If it's Lance again, you can tell him to sod off unless he's brought ice cream," Jemma shouts.

"Nah, it's Ward." Bobbi shoves out of the doorway and lets him pass her, and shakes her head as he clearly was in such desperation to see her sister that he hadn't taken the time to change out of his cover's look. "Un-pop your collar. Jesus, is that Aqua-Velva?"

"Curve." He flattens the collar of his polo.

Bobbi is laughing when he catches sight of Jemma but she still can't miss the look in his eye. It's as if his entire being is sending out what can only be termed as his claim to Jemma.

She glances between them. There's a slight blush Bobbi can guess the cause of ride high on Jemma's cheeks and a smile twisting her lips. She holds Jemma's gaze a second, the plea clear on her face though she's too nice to actually kick her out. Bobbi takes pity on her. "I'm going to go."

Jemma nods. "I'll bring the wine next week."

"Sounds good. Remember, safe sex is always the best sex!" Then she lights out before Grant can throttle her.

-/-/-

After Bobbi leaves, silence reigns for a half a beat before Jemma steps up to him. Taking his jaw in her hand, she turns his head to inspect the healing cut along his scalp. Her eyes seem a tad critical.

"Glue job okay, doc?" He kisses the tip her thumb that lingers along his bottom lip.

"It's passable. How's the hand?"

"Still operational."

He shakes out of her hold and, cupping her face in his hands, he kisses her softly. "Hey, it's good to see you in the flesh."

"Back at you." He resumes kissing her, and she shoves at the shoulders of his jacket to try and get it off. He strips out of it, never breaking contact with her lips.

"Which way?" he asks as she gets her hands up under his shirt. They take a short circuit, dipping beneath the waist of his jeans before traveling back up to rid him of it.

"Last door on the left." She squeaks a little at the end of the sentence, when he lifts her off her feet and strides toward the bedroom with his lips planted to her neck. He wants at that spot on her clavicle that makes her gasp. He pauses to yank her Star Trek hoodie off and, in the process, wrecks her ponytail. Her fair is messily failing down and tickles his face when she pulls him in for another fierce kiss.

He laughs perfectly, happy in the moment.

"What?" she wonders aloud. The question rumbles against lips where he's sucking a very visible bruise on to her throat.

"You make me happy is all," he says, finally reaching that spot on her clavicle.

"Oh is that all?" she tries to joke and it breaks off on that gasp he was dying for. It's as good as he remembers. He nips sharply and sucks on the tiny patch of skin again. This time, the gasp falls into the skin of neck where she was trying to leave her own mark just over his pulse point.

"Fuck, no woman has gotten me going with a noise before you know that?" he mutters, starting them back along the path down what might be the world's longest hallway.

She leans away from him to remove her bra, and, at the flash of breasts he sees before they are pressed to his bare chest, he suddenly remembers how she'd said she wanted his mouth exactly there.

"You know, it's probably unwise to tell me how much power I hold over you."

"Why?" he asks, balancing her on a little table she has parked in the hallway so he can dip down to take a pert breast into his mouth. He pebbles the nipple using his teeth and tongue and her breath stutters.

"Because I could use my powers for evil."

He makes no comment and smiles into her breast. He moves over slowly pausing to kiss her sternum and then repeats his actions on her other breast. She grind against him in desperation and her hands can't decide what to do, to grip his hair or dig her nails into his shoulders.

"Fuck, Grant…" She's almost begging when she shoves him back. "Take me into the bedroom."

"Or what?" he teases.

"Or I'll fuck you in the walk way floor like a… a prostitute!"

He really can't help the challenge from his eye and of course she rises to it when he nibbles at her collarbone instead of moving them further along the hall. She unravels her legs from around him and lifts her ass to slide her yoga pants down and kick them off.

She eyes him as if to say your turn. He unbuttons his jeans and yanks down the zipper. He pulls down the tight jeans to his thighs hurriedly as she wraps her legs back around him.

"Fuck… condom?" he groans.

"I'm clean and on the pill," Jemma says against his neck. "I'm good at letting it slide one, if you're good. Are you…"

"Clean," he confirms before he seats himself firmly inside her hard and fast, desperation taking over. She slips forward on to his cock and off the table. He groans, deeply satisfied just to be with her again. He lowers them as carefully he can to the hardwood floor without leaving the heat of her body. He's finally got her beneath him, the way he's thought about months. It's everything he's wanted. She's everything he wants. He's falling in love with her, fast and hard as the tempo he's set. It's an odd moment to realize that. But he does realize it, and he isn't going to deny it to himself any longer.

"Cold floor! Very cold," Jemma bucks up beneath him before declaring, "I'm on top." She rolls them, his half-shucked pants leaving him at a disadvantage, but he doesn't move to roll her back anyway. He doesn't care about the cold at his back when she's hot and tight around him.

As she sinks down on to him, she starts with a slow deliberate roll of her hips. Leaning back on her hands, the slow rhythm leaves him gripping her hips and he knows he'll leave his fingerprints indented into her flesh Tradeoff is he's likely to carry the image of her riding him until his death. The way her mouth falls open on a silent moan, the way her tits bounce and sway with each tiny motion. The way she tightens and releases around him.

She's moving so damn slow he hates for it and loves her for it all once.

"So perfect baby…faster…please…" he begs, using his grip prompt her. She leans forward and changes the angle, taking his hands and lacing their fingers. He lets her bring them above his head to anchor herself. The change in pace is deep and fast, hard.

She leans over to kiss him and he chases her tongue with his. Her little sighs of pleasure die on his lips as she goes deeper and deeper and with each thrust gets tighter and tighter around him.

They come at the same time, so quick it leaves him exhausted. It's a good thing they're kissing, otherwise her neighbors would have heard them both.

She nips his bottom lip then watches it snap back. "I've missed you so much more than is good for me."

He kisses the corner of her mouth and his lips slide on to her cheek as she turns her head and collapses on to his chest.

He takes down her bedraggled ponytail, running his hand through her hair. "Вы несете гораздо больше моего сердца, чем хорошо для меня," he replies. She must not know Russian because she only sighs happily and snuggles in closer. "Missed you more, baby," he finishes in English.

/-/-/

He walks into Garrett's office the next day.

"I need to let you know I've met someone. Being as deep into this Calina thing as I am, paired with the way I- I mean if they found out about her and used it against me? I wouldn't be able to think clearly. I need you to flag her as a potential operative compromise and put a protection detail on her when I'm in deep cover."

Garrett laughs. "I'm not putting protection on this week's piece of ass, Ward. It's waste of man hours and money."

"I've flagged only two people before: Skye and my niece. It's not something I take lightly, Sergeant," he says.

"Alright, there's no need to get out your violin, consider it done." Garrett's chair squeaks as he leans back eying Grant.

"Thank you."

"She must be some lay, son."

Grant clenches his jaw, but doesn't bother getting into it since there's never any point with Garrett. He'll think what he thinks. Instead, he merely walks away. He catches Bobbi's gaze as he goes back to the bull pen but looks away before she can read everything on his face.

-/-/-/-

Jemma isn't quite sure what to make of her - whatever it is - with Grant. One minute he's giving her incredible orgasms, the next he's disappearing. Bobbi basically told her not to expect more than a booty call, but then he's bringing her lunch and reminding her to eat. Sometimes it seems like the reason he is so hot and cold is more to do with his undercover work and less to do with his feelings regarding her. Granted, all they have now might be some really intense sex. But it could be more if she let it, if she was able to push out the tiny voice in her head that sounds like Bobbi?

She doesn't know. But it felt like things had started shifting last night. The playful banter and the remarkable tenderness of that second time. The way he'd held her body to his and looked into her eyes was still sticking with her this morning, even as she'd woken alone with his smell still on her sheets.

She'd journeyed to the loo to pee and found what might be considered a love note stuck to her vanity mirror. It was a bright blue; unmistakable an NYPD post it. "Morning Baby. I had a briefing and you looked too peaceful to wake. There's an herbal remedy balm on the kitchen table for those bruises I left behind when we got enthusiastic. It works. Have a good day. -Grant."

It's things like this that make her feel like this could be more. Those sweet thoughtful gestures, things she never even thought to expect. Things that, if she isn't careful, could very well lead her into heartbreak if she's reading too much into his actions.

The balm makes it so she goes to work smelling like chamomile, citrus, and cayenne. It makes her think of Grant all day.

AN: I own nothing! Many thanks to my lovely and talented Myranda! Translation of Russian Text: You own so much more of my heart than is good for me!

If you liked it, please leave a comment, review, or kudos!


	4. Defintions & Declarations

Grant wants more than just great sex with Jemma. He wants a relationship. The whole package. He wants the woman who can think circles around him in a blink, wants the way she steadies him and challenges him all at once. He marvels at her ability to care for others and catch him off guard by directing her kindness and humor at him. In short, he wants all the things that make her who she is to belong to him. But if he's going to have that with her, he knows they need to spend time together doing more than making like rabbits. They need to date.

Which means he has to pump Bobbi for date ideas. He doesn't want to half ass it with Jemma. He wants to get it right. Getting it right means swallowing his pride and asking for help.

He sits on the edge of Bobbi's desk. "I need intel." He doesn't look at her.

"On?" she asks for clarification.

"Jemma."

She sighs. "Why should I do that?"

"So she doesn't think I'm only using her for sex and that she is temporary."

"And she isn't temporary?"

"No, Morse she's not." He blinks as her words catch up to him. "Wait, did you tell her that?"

"She's my sister, Ward! Of course I'm going to warn her so she doesn't get her heart broken."

"If you thought I was going to break her heart, the hell did you set us up for?"

"I figured she'd get a good orgasm or two, get some confidence back after the last asshole screwed her over, and go back to the dating pool while you went back to your revolving door of hookups. No harm, no foul." Bobbi sighs. "Look, I didn't think you were interested in anything real, or I wouldn't have said anything."

"Well, I want something real with her and I want to get it right. So will you help me?"

"Are you in love with my sister?" she smirks.

"If I use those words, I want to say them to her first," he says, looking her in the eye so she can read the truth in his. "But I'm all in here, Bobbi. I'm serious."

Bobbi tilts her head at him, gives it a long moment.

"Alright. Do something that gets her out of her head that doesn't involve sex. A movie, a play, hell, one of those science talks she keeps trying to drag Lance to." Bobbi nods to herself. "And she loves fast cars - rent out the track, take her racing. Or she's always wanted to sky dive, last guy didn't have the balls for it."

"Thank you," Grant says sincerely as he moves to leave her desk.

"And Grant?"

He pauses.

"Good luck." Bobbi means the words, he can tell. "Jemma's," she pauses and smiles fondly, "Jemma's amazing, but you're a good guy. And if you're all in? Then my bet's on you."

-/-/-

If he's going to get to date Jemma, to show her he wants a "them", he's going to need a little breathing room. And since Calina's been on his ass with no signs of letting up, Grant's going to have to get creative. Fortunately, he's got an idea that the leader of the Op said he can make work out.

"Calina, I have an in with a local doctor for scripts but I need to work her, soften her up. I need some uninterrupted time with her, to soften her up." He smirks and leans carelessly on the butcher's block that passes for a desk. "I think I've tolerated your tests of my loyalty and earned myself some autonomy." He kicks his chin up in a challenge.

"Okay," Calina acquiesces, but something about the ease makes Grant slightly nervous. But he can't very well look a gift horse in the mouth. "And, if you cannot not gain her trust through affection, perhaps we can appeal to her Hippocratic nature."

Ah yes. And there are the strings.

Grant knows he's likely taking too many risks, but he needs Jemma in his life. He can't remember the last time he needed a woman, if ever. Sure, he'd liked Skye and enjoyed her company - had even thought he loved her at the time - but he hadn't needed her. He needs to do everything he can to make sure Jemma doesn't slip through his fingers.

The fact that they aren't as solid as they could be thanks to Bobbi's commentary on his sexual habits makes him uncommonly nervous. He is also determined to tear down the carefully-constructed walls around Jemma's heart and instead cement himself there.

Jemma will be his no matter how hard he has to work for her. He's already hers.

-/-/-/-

He ends up starting by taking Jemma to a TED Talk on neuroscience advancement. He can think of nothing that would make him want to gouge his own eyes out more, but she had been so excited when he gave her the tickets, he'd gotten a bit swept up in her and forgotten the possibility for mind-numbing boredom.

He so should have told her they were for her and Morse to make up for the girls' night he interrupted.

She watching raptly, occasionally stopping to whisper an explanation to him. He holds her hand and nods as though he understands. What he cares about is her, not the talk.

He watches her mouth as it forms the long word he doesn't comprehend and thinks dirty thoughts. When that proves fruitless - their location makes it impossible to those dirty things – and the pace he's been keeping in the interest of the Op hits him, he falls asleep.

He wakes at intermission to a hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

"Jemma…" he growls out, begging.

"What?" She grins like the cat that ate the canary, damn her.

He carefully removes her hand from his thigh, bringing it back up over the blanket she's spread over their laps. He kisses the back of her hand, trying to quell the disappointed and rejected look in her eyes.

"You're so bored you fell asleep. I thought it only fair I should keep things interesting for you."

He laughs despite himself. "Baby."

He leans in toward her and drags her in for a thorough kiss. "You're interesting enough for me. Anyway, you won't be able to finish what you start. Not here anyway," he says against her lips. "And I'm not bored, just tired."

"Oh yes, I gather. Bobbi told me you'd fall asleep. And to take photos. Technically she told me to let you off the hook and bring Fitz, but…"

"Of course she wanted photos… so how much money did she make off my nap?"

"Fifty dollars. Next time, I won't over estimate your endurance," she teases.

-/-/-

The next weekend, he finds her surrounded by medical journals and watching a surgery technique. He'd brought his laptop to her place to finish his paperwork and spend some extra time with her, to show her he doesn't expect her to entertain him every given moment. Though he now understands what Morse means about her getting stuck in her own head. He watches her a solid five minutes and she doesn't move a muscle. She is completely engrossed in her work on what is a sunny day.

That's it, they're doing anything but work. He snaps the laptop closed.

He gets up stepping in front of her. "Guess what, baby."

"What?" she looks around him while taking notes.

"We're getting you out of your head." He grabs the remote off the coffee table, turning off the TVset.

"I don't like getting high, I've no control over the way my body feels."

He takes a second to process that. "I meant I've got tickets the drive in movie in the 'burbs."

"Oh! I saw that in the paper! They're showing a Robert Redford double-feature." He watches as she smiles. She'd mentioned offhand, once, that she loved to do cheesy American-themed things. The Brit in her found things like drive-ins and State Fairs novel.

"I've always wanted to go to the drive-in. It seems so… so American!"

On most of the drive to the little town west of the city, he catches sight of a tail periodically. It's not the car that was tailing him before, and he is reassured when he realizes it must be Jemma's protection detail, as Garrett promised.

He'd taken his truck this time and, once they have pulled into the theatre area, they lounge in the truck bed. He pulls Jemma to sit in the vee of his legs and lean against his chest, covering her legs, bare under the skirt she's wearing, with the scratchy blanket he pulled out the cab so she wouldn't get cold.

Barefoot in The Park is funny and entertaining in a way that was considered tongue-in-cheek in it's time. Grant finds out he loves her laugh even when it's not motivated by dirty things. He watches her smile, lit by the low light emitted by the far off screen as Redford edges a long a roof top. She tips her head back to catch his eye.

He dips in for an awkward kiss, unable to resist. It's a soft, very nearly perfect thing and he has every intention of stopping it before it goes any further, but she's twisting in his lap to deepen the kiss and draw it out. They are far off in the back of the lot, but it's still a very public place. Then she breaks the kiss to pepper kisses along his jawline.

"Jemma, baby…"

"No one can see us, Grant." She nips her teeth along his Adam's apple and his hands spasm restlessly where they rest on her hips and, as if reading his mind, she rocks herself against his crotch. All the blood leaves his brain and heads south. "Besides isn't this some American rite of passage?"

He kisses along the line of her neck. "Possibly."

He begins unbuttoning her top. He kisses what he now thinks of as his spot and gets her gasping and gripping his biceps. He's about to pull away, but her hands come around his shoulders to hold him in place.

"I promise I'll be quiet, love."

He stops kisses her long enough to look in her eyes. The heat and certainty he sees there decides it for him. He flips her beneath him, careful to adjust the blanket to mask his actions. Her nimble fingers carefully undo his fly and free his hard length.

"Condom?" he whispers before pressing a kiss to her thrumming pulse. She shakes her head.

"It's okay." She smiles, and he rucks her skirt around her hips so it won't get in his way and tugs her panties to one side. When he seats himself inside her, the second movie is beginning. Hidden beneath the blanket, she locks her ankles around his waist, her sensible heels digging into his ass. Her hands pull at his hair as he mouths at her breast through the camisole she's wearing.

She looks so beautiful, head thrown back as she tries to contain her cries. Jemma is typically a noisy lover and he enjoys it. Watching her trying not to lose it as he pushes every button he's ever found is a huge turn on. He's going to find a way to reward her for it if she maintains control and tells her so. She whimpers at the challenge and he grins.

He pushes himself up onto his hands to give him the leverage to go deeper with every thrust. He watches her go flushed by the silver screen's light, feels her twitching around him.

"Close, please, so close," she rasps, burying her face in his neck to muffle the sounds.

"I know," he whispers back as he kisses her. He reaches between their twisted clothes to circle her clit with his thumb, still driving into her. She comes apart beneath him, shaking to her very bones. She's biting her lip so hard he thinks it might be bleeding.

She never makes a single noise. He comes shortly after her and collapses on her. She's petting down his back, unconsciously he thinks, as she catches her breath.

"So what's this second feature again?" she finally says. "It looks like Indecent Proposal."

He can't help but laugh.

-/-/-

Grant is annoyed when Calina says he wants Grant to stay late to meet him at one of his businesses, a deli from out of whose back he runs drugs. They go up to the offices above the shop and it smells overwhelmingly of onion, salami, and sourdough.

Calina eyes him from behind the butcher's block-turned desk. "Santoro, I've given you a month to get your little doctor in line, but according to Carlo, you don't seem to be doing much to win her over besides get your dick wet."

"She's a soft touch. I gotta take my time."

"Carlo said she looked like a tight little piece. Seems to enjoy movies and a good fuck."

Grant takes a second to process what was just said. Carlo Lucio was one of Calina's captains and one of Grant's loudest detractors. He's also, by far, one of the creepiest men in the whole operation. The fact that Calina has Carlo watching Grant makes him nervous, but knowing he'd been watched with Jemma made his skin crawl.

"So. Is she?" Calina goads.

"What?"

"Is the good doctor as tight as she is pretty?"

He wants to throw up. He has to answer as Santoro would, as much as it pains him.

"Tighter."

He feels like he's violated something sacred.

"Maybe she needs a bit more emotional motivation," Calina says, slinking toward him. It's then that Grant sees the knife.

-/-/-/

Jemma's doorbell goes completely nuts and she puts down her Kindle, on which she was perusing the New York Times, to answer it. For the half second it takes her to look through the peephole, Jemma's heart races at the sight of Grant, but something is off. He's a bit pallid.

She yanks the door open and he almost falls through it before catching himself on the door frame. Blood soaks his shirt on left side in the lower quadrant.

"What happened to you? Who did this?"

"Loyalty test of sorts. Calina stabbed me."

"What?"

"Jemma."

She puts her fear aside and lets doctor mode settle over her. She nods and leads him to the kitchen, where she sits him down at the table and grabs her kit she keeps in case of field emergencies. She cuts away his shirt. The sight of the blood dripping steadily from the mean-looking laceration makes her want to vomit. She suddenly has blinding clarity on why doctors don't treat loved ones.

And then it hits her. The thing she'd kept trying to shove down and hide from herself rears up in that moment, undeniable in its veracity. She loves him.

It takes everything in her to steady her hands as she cleans up the laceration with lap pads. She wants to cry, but she absolutely will not. She holds tightly to that conviction.

She has no way of knowing if the bastard hit anything vital. "I need to get you to the hospital, I need to make sure you aren't bleeding internally."

"I can't go to a hospital, baby, it will compromise the Op."

"Like that matters in comparison to your life!"

"It does Jemma. I've worked really long and hard on this thing, and there is a lot more than even me or my career at stake. I can't let it all blow up because I fell into bed with you."

"You make it sound like- forget it. I'll treat you. Then you can go back to your OP. Never mind that my career is being jeopardized or- or - "

"I didn't-"

"Just shut up, Grant," she snarls, jaw tight and eyebrows crunched down over her dark eyes, currently shooting fire at him. And not the good kind he's used to seeing.

He nods. She fills a syringe, then another. "The first syringe is a clotting agent the second is lidocaine. It doesn't appear anything was vital hit, but if you start to feel especially poorly, promise you'll go to the Emergency Department or urgent care."

"Alright."

"The wound is as clean as I can get it here. I'm going to begin suturing now."

"Okay."

Silence reigns as she works. Once she's done and has it bandaged, she shucks her gloves and collapses into the kitchen chair across from him.

Silence stretches out.

"Jemma," Grant ventures as her lip begins to tremble. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring this here, or to scare you. Calina made sure not to hit anything vital, he just wanted to see where he could push me. And you don't have to worry about your job, okay? We'll figure out how to report this, just through the leader of the Op. He'll make sure the paperwork is in place and that I have what Calina wants without bringing you into it.

She makes no reply for a long time.

"Jemma," he pleads. "Say something. Anything."

"What are we?'

"Jemma I-"

"Look, you've just bled all over my kitchen, potentially put my career at risk, and scared the shit out of me. The very least I deserve is to know what … what I am to you. Am I a willing and convenient shag, a fling that fits your Op, or…"

"Jemma, I'll be whatever you want us to be." She starts shaking her head, her mouth curved in a mockery of a smile as she starts to gather herself. He can see the wall building before his eyes, and he reaches out to take her hand.

"It's not just sex to me Jemma," he says gently, willing her to believe it. "You're my girlfriend. Why would you ever think all you are is a handy lay?"

"That's all we do, it's not that far-fetched."

"No, that's what we do well but it's not all we can do. And it isn't all I want to do with you. I love you. Hell, Jem, I want everything with you, I want be a part of your life every day."

"We don't know anything about each other."

He hears what she's not saying, and it breaks his heart that someone, somewhere, has made her feel like she doesn't have enough to offer. He wants everything, like he told her, and he means to start showing her now, to wash that bruised look from her eyes.

"I know you always sleep on your right side. You like your ice cream in a bowl not on a cone. You drink coffee to keep you going for surgeries but you'd much rather a cup of tea, and brewed in a proper tea pot," he lists, running his fingers over her knuckles in an idle pattern.

"You have an unnatural love of gummi bears, Emma Goldman, and Lance Hunter, brother or not," he continues, heartened by the little glimpse of a smile that starts to tug her lips at the mention of her sibling. "You wear a surgical cap with lady bug on it for your pediatric patients, but a sunflower yellow one for everyday use. You were just doing the Times crossword on your Kindle, and you never use the hints because you think that's cheating." Her mouth has dropped into a cute "oh" of surprise now, but he presses on. "You like Bach and the fucking Spice Girls. You hum in the shower, not sing. You wear that raggedy NYFD shirt when you miss your brother and you fix the missed stitches in Bobbi's crochet. Need I go on?"

Her mouth snaps closed. She swallows, seemingly struggling to find words. But he has words of his own to say, and it is past time he made sure she knows them. "I'd marry you tomorrow if I thought you'd go for it."

"Wow." Her body goes lax the fight leeching out of her and she cocks her head at him. He flips her hand palm up, tracing her love line with his thumb before raising it to press his lips against the center. She gives a little inhale at the contact and the sound wakes up his cock, but he cannot act physically on his want for her this time.

That's okay, he's got nothing but time if she decides to trust him. When she draws her hand back she traces his smile with her finger tips, she does so blindly, without bothering to look up, like she knows every part of him better than he does.

He likes that she knows him. He'll fight for it if he has to.

"I'm sorry I scared you, and I'm even sorrier I dragged you into my work shit, but I couldn't stay away. The timing to start the Op was terrible, but after I met you I knew I couldn't risk losing my chance with you. So please, baby, please tell me I haven't lost you, that this isn't going to be the thing that costs me the best thing that ever happened to me."

She finally looks up at him, and relief blooms at the look in her eyes. "I love you, too. I tried not to, but I couldn't help it."

"Good," he says fiercely, before catching her hand again tugging her across the table toward him for a kiss. She won't let him pull her onto his lap, and it isn't until he reaches up to tangle his hand in her hair that he remembers why. The pain in his side is sharp enough that he grunts.

"Come on," she says as she hovers over him. She slides gracefully over the table and down onto her feet. "Let's get you laid down for some recuperation."

She gently pulls him until he's standing, bearing most of his weight as she leads him into the bedroom. She unmakes the bed and he leans on the wall watching her.

"What?" she asks, turning back to him and catching his stare. She reaches out a hand to him and he pulls her into his arms with a barely-hidden wince of pain. "Grant."

He kisses her softly, thoroughly, hands cupping her face. She powers her every emotion into returning the kiss: he feels all her fear, anger, confusion, joy, and love. It doesn't stop until their lungs burn and she sways against him like she's light-headed.

"I love you," he whispers against her lips when he sees something like doubt flicker in her eyes.

"If you ever stop, please just tell me."

"Baby, I would never."

She turns them around and forces him to lie down on the bed, crosses the room to dig through a drawer in her dresser.

"If you ever got bored of me, I don't think I'd survive it." She says it so softly he knows he wasn't intended to hear it, and it hurts him that anyone has ever made her feel that way. He can't address it, though, because she's already changing the subject. "Are you allergic to any medications?"

"No, why?"

"I'm going to get you something for the pain before the lidocaine wears off."

=/-/-

His side is burning and his head is pounding but when she returns with pills and water he has to know… so he can kill them for putting the wounded look in her eyes. "Who cheated on you?" Her eyes go empty on him as she shutters off all emotion. She smiles a little sadly, trying to brush off her pain, he thinks.

"No one important, really. The pursuit of a certified genius is a novelty, but it isn't attractive long term. Men get bored of me."

Grant pushes himself up, despite the pain in his side, to look at her incredulously. The fact she can think circles around him – around pretty much anyone he's ever met – is one of the many things that make her fascinating. "How is it that even possible?"

She shrugs, smiles sadly again. He feels a spike of rage at the insecure bastards that made her feel anything but proud of her brain, but shoves it down in favor of looking at her seriously. "I won't. Ever."

She doesn't look like she believes him, but he knows she's not ready for him to push, so he files it away for later, lets her walk to the bed and change the subject. She shoves some pills and a glass of water at him. "Take these. They're Vicodin. Good stuff. Might make you weepy, they depress certain receptors other than pain."

"Really?" He smiles despite his physical discomfort as he downs the medication.

"I promise not to judge if you cry. It goes against my oath as a doctor."

He laughs and agony shoots through him. "Laughing is bad, but you teasing me is good. Come here." He pats the bed, hoping he can convince her to curl up next to him.

She bends in half to kiss him, but shakes her head fondly. "I'm going to clean up. You get some sleep."

-/-/-

The sight of the blood puddled beneath the legs of the chair make the tears Jemma held at bay surge forward ferociously. She covers her mouth to catch and muffle her sobs. The reality she's dating a cop with an unhealthy taste for danger has never been more clear and the fact that she loves him in a way that is becoming indelible frightens her a lot.

She tries and fails to reel in her emotions. She sobs the whole time she scrubs the floor and chair with bleach, her hands shaking. She's worried at first that he'll hear her, but the drugs seem to have done their job since he doesn't try to emerge from her bedroom to comfort her. She manages to pull herself together as she discards the used medical and cleaning supplies, as well as Grant's bloodstained t-shirt.

When she curls up next to his uninjured side in bed an hour later, having splashed water on her face, she's too wrung out to do anything but sleep.

-/-/-/-

She's in that sleepy place where she can't differentiate her dreams from reality but the press of his lips, and the scrape of his stubble on her thigh draws her to full wakefulness.

"Morning, sweetheart." He smiles like he's gotten something for which he's been waiting a while. She blinks down at him, but doesn't have a chance to ask if he needs anything before he is locking eyes with her. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Stop what?" she says, confused only a moment before he grins, anchors her leg over his shoulder and goes down. "Oh!"

She throws the covers back to watch him as he works her over, pressing his fingers into her and using his teeth and tongue just the way she likes. He sends her careening over the edge, gasping his name and tugging his hair. It only takes him a few minutes. She would analyze what that meant if it didn't feel too damn good for her to care.

He scoots back up her body to kiss her when she's coming down. "Hi."

"Hi." She replies, pulling him in to kiss him again. She let' go of his hair to trail a hand down his chest to reach between their bodies and check his wounds. She keeps up the kiss, ratcheting up the intensity by sucking on the tip of his tongue the way he likes and she gently prods the bandage.

He moans but it doesn't sound like a painful one. "I'm fine, baby. Calina didn't want me dead, just a little sliced up." He moves her hair aside to focus on a spot behind her ear.

"Then you won't… ahhh…. mind rolling over and letting me check you out."

"We can play doctor any time you want." He flips them over quickly.

"I should really get some gloves.

"Just appease your conscience so… I can occupy your mind the way I want." She shakes her head at him laughingly.

"You are unbelievable." He merely rolls his hips up into her. "Grant! Stop it," she chastises and begins peeling back the bandage.

It's not infected or swollen, the stitches seem to be holding, and he is clearly feeling good, if the way he's deliciously hard beneath her is any indication.

"We're good for now," she says, patting the bandage back in place, noting to herself that she'll need to change it later. "But I'll have to be on top."

"I guess it isn't the worst compromise," he allows. He lifts his hips and pulls down his boxers as she kneels up so she can strip off the t-shirt she'd worn to bed. She can see the heat spark in his eyes when he recognizes it as one he'd forgotten the last time he stopped over. She'd found it pressed into the couch cushions, and had refused to examine what it meant that she'd been wearing it to bed since.

He brackets his arm around her hips and she sinks down over him. Not for the first time, she marvels at how well the fit together.

He sits up and rocks himself into her.

"Slowly. You don't want pull a stitch," she says low in her throat.

"You'd redo them," he says smugly, running his hands up and down her back. He anchors his left hand on the base of her neck the other trailing up and down her hip in time with their movement.

"How…" The head of his cock brushing at her G-spot when he changes the tilt of his hips slightly falters her words. She can't help the little cry of pleasure. "Presumptuous of you."

"Promise I'll make it worth your while, baby," he retorts, kissing her hard. She loops her arms around his shoulders and drives downward when she has to pull away to gasp. They're so close they're breathing the same air, their foreheads touching, unable to tear their eyes from each other. There's something a little dark and desperate in his, like he's afraid she'll disappear. Then there is something so much deeper and intense. Love, she realizes. It's been so rare for her, it's hard to recognize, but it's there.

He was telling the truth. She needs, desperately, for him to know she was doing the same. "I love you, Grant."

He smiles like she's tapped into some inside joke. "I love you, too."

When she comes hard and fast, it steals her breath and locks up her muscles. She sags into him, not too spent not to be careful of his wound. He seems to be holding so tightly to his control again that he won't let himself go. She leans back to look at him and the desperation is back.

"You can let go. "He picks up the pace but doesn't let himself find release. She kisses him hard, biting at his bottom lip. "Come for me," she commands sweetly.

And he does, pushing deep so she feels him everywhere, as he muffles groan of foreign curses that die in her hair. She's still so sensitive from his attentions it sends her over the edge again unexpectedly.

"Are you okay?" she asks once they've caught their breath.

"I can't feel my toes but I've never been happier."

"Grant!" Alarmed, she starts to move away, but firm hands on her hips keep her in place as he chuckles.

"It's orgasm- not injury-related. Chill, Doc Simmons." He very carefully lays down and pulls her with him into the space at his side.

She snuggles close, tucked comfortably into him, and presses a kiss over his heart. "Why did you smile like something was funny when I said I loved you?"

"I have this superior who always says never to trust what anyone says right before orgasm. It's shaky intel at best. I just realized, we're going to cause a lot of waves and I really don't care what anyone thinks, not even him."

"He sounds like a very lonely man."

"He is. He doesn't believe his unit should foster entanglements."

"And I'm an entanglement?"

"Oh, my favorite one."

"Will they pull you from the job now that you've been injured?"

"Nah, Calina thinks I will go as far as he needs now. I have his trust."

"I'm probably going to very scared and nervous about your job now that-" she's about to say now that they are real, but realizes that maybe, as much as she denied it, they've been real all along. She's worried all along for him. So what's changed? Behind her closed eyes, she sees the bleach-soaked rags sopping his blood from her tile and can't help but tremble a little. "Now that I've seen what it can mean."

"That'd only human. But I will always tell you as much as I can okay?"

She nods, listening to his heart beat beneath her ear.

"You know you told me why you chose medicine but never why Trauma Surgery."

"I like puzzles, solving problems on the fly. I like having control, knowing that in the middle of chaos I'm smart and fast enough to act with decisiveness," she shifts to look up at him. "In Trauma, you have to analyze and pick a path and take it sometimes in seconds. There is no room for fear or doubt just action. With Dad's diagnosis, it was just a waiting game. I'm not a patient woman as a result."

"You're really good at what you do. You treated me quickly and kept your cool."

"I'm not supposed to treat loved ones. Let's just make it a one-time thing. Alright?"

"We can play doctor either way, right?"

She laughs. "Of course. Let's shower and change that bandage. Then maybe you can tell me about how you got your start in law enforcement."

-/-/-/-/

Lance walks up the stairs leading to Jemma's place. He's hungry. He's been on shift and he's too lazy to shop, and his sister always seems to have left over Chinese or, at the very least, milk and Cheerios. If she's home and he manages to look extra pathetic, he might even be able to convince her to make him his favorite. He shoves his emergency key in the lock and lets himself in.

There's low conversation coming from somewhere. Possibly the TV. He pilots himself to the kitchen.

It takes a full minute for what he sees to compute.

Jemma sits on the island counter top in nothing but a plain white shirt that's two sizes too big and a pair of lacy, plum-colored panties that he can see where his hand resting on her hip hikes the shirt up.

There is not enough bleach in the world to sanitize his mind from the sight of Ward standing between Lance's baby sister's thighs in nothing but boxers.

"Live a little baby, they had sex in the kitchen in that movie we saw, worked out okay for them," Ward coaxes.

"I do live! The things we've done…" Ward feeds her a bit of what looks like blueberry muffin, and he's appalled to see Jemma nip playfully at his fingers. "Oh, those are still hot."

"What. The. Bloody. Fuck, Squeaks!"

Her head whips around. "Lance!"

"What are you doing with him?"

"We're currently having breakfast. Care to join us? Jemma made muffins." Grant grins at him smugly.

"Eat shit asshole, I'm talking to my sister."

"Lance, stop it now!"

"So this is the lowlife you're shagging, I take it?"

"Grant is my boyfriend. And I don't see how it is any of your business but yes, we're also sleeping together."

"Boyfriend?" Lance doesn't bother to keep his incredulity of his face. "Don't be a duffer, Squeaks. This tosser is just having it off with you to piss me off, and you should know better than to let him."

Jemma slides off the counter, and Ward rubs up and down her arms, mocking Lance by pretending to be comforting. "I don't understand why you are being this way," Jemma says, and the wanker actually tucks Jemma under his arm like he's protecting her. It fuels Lance's rage even higher.

"Because you have absolutely shite taste in men! First that professor. Dropped you right quick when mom and I cottoned on, didn't he? And what about fucking Bakshi? Couldn't wait to step out on you, could he. Now, you choose the bloody cop who pissed all over my career and who fucked my wife for God knows how long!"

"Shut the fuck up, Hunter!" Ward hisses. "I've told you, I've never slept with Morse! I don't give a damn if you believe that or not, but I do give a damn about the way you are talking to Jemma."

"Stay out of this, Ward." Lance can feel his temper rise, and he is powerless to stop himself from lashing out. "You know how I feel about him, but I guess you're trollop enough to ignore that. Count me out this round."

"That's it, Hunter, I warned-"Ward moves to step toward him, but Jemma's arms slip around him.

"Grant, don't. You're hurt and I don't want..." Her voice shakes and tears well up in her eyes, but the sight of her cuddling into the man he hates most makes him harden the regret Lance can already feel creeping in. "That's fine," she turns to her brother. "I won't be counting on you for a thing again. How dare you come to my home, imply I'm a whore, hurl insults at my boyfriend, and slander Bobbi. She's told you, I know, that she's never slept with Grant, and it's unfair and unkind of you to continue to blame him for your problems with your ex-wife; the same ex-wife you continue to have sex with, non-exclusively lest you think I'm barmy enough not to have noticed. I can't even look at you right now."

"You should leave, Hunter," Grant says concretely yet quietly.

Lance looks at Jemma pointedly. She takes a breath.

"When I'm ready to accept your apology, Lance," she says coolly, though he can see her lip tremble, "I'll let you know."

"You're choosing this arsehole over your own brother?" Lance yelps. "Well you'll be waiting bloody forever, then, won't you?"

"I suppose I will," Jemma says.

"Fine! Fine. Don't cry to me when he chucks you and finds someone else who will spread her legs." He storms out, slamming the door behind him.

-/-/-

As the door closes so hard it reverberates it the kitchen, Jemma crumples in on herself. As she sobs, all Grant can do is hold her. He has no clue what else to do. He'd always been antagonistic with Hunter but this felt bigger than that. "Shhh…. It's okay, baby."

"No. It's really not."

He pulls her closer to him, running soothing circles around her back. He presses a kiss to her hair. "I know, and I'm sorry, baby. What can I do to make it better?"

She doesn't say anything, doesn't seem to know. So he just holds her. He's not going anywhere.

-/-

AN: I own nothing. Many thanks again to Myr! If you enjoyed it and feel so inclined please leave me a comment!-MM


	5. Ward's Haven

THERE ARE REFERENCES TO ABUSE IN THIS CHAPTER, PHYISICAL, MENTAL, AND EMOTIONAL AS WELL AS SEXUAL ABUSE AND ABUSE OF POWER. I THOGHT IT BEST TO WARN YOU. I OWN NOTHING. THIS CHAPTER FOUGHT ME PRETTY HARD SO IF YOU LIKED IT PLEASE TELL ME! ENJOY AS ALWAYS!-MM

-/-/-

Bobbi glares at Lance from the far end of the leather couch, her face revealing utter dismay. "I can't believe you did that! Actually, I can, because you're a thoughtless fucking jack=ass. But usually it's only directed at me," Bobbi gripes, so utterly tired of Lance's bullshit.

"I saw him and I just reacted Bob," he defends, plopping down on the opposite side of the couch. He looks a little dejected and shocked at his own behavior, and yet Bobbi can't just let him off that easily.

"You brought up the professor. She has to explain that to him now. Not because she's ready but because you can't control your temper. You get that, right?" Bobbi rails at him further, fury evident in her voice. "Do you know what that has to feel like? She trusted you with something she feels shame for – unnecessary, unwarranted shame - to the point that she's one of countless who will never press charges. She feels responsible even though she was a child, and instead of protecting her again you've used it to throw in her face." Bobbi tacked on in an unvarnished truth. There was a reason she didn't work sex crimes, and it was because victims like Jemma broke her heart.

"I feel guilty enough already, Bob, you don't have to pile it on more." Lance pouts, unwillingly to look her way, afraid he'll see more recrimination than he can handle now.

"Oh you do?" She laughs dryly. He's surprised to hear her hurt mixed with the accusations. "About which thing? Picking at your sister's emotional scabs, or calling me a whore? And after I've told you time and again nothing has ever, will ever, or could ever happen between us because he's my fucking partner!"

"I cocked up!" Lance shouts. "I bloody know that, alright?" Lance looks at the floor. Loving Bobbi always made him super possessive because he never truly felt he deserved her. Thought she would figure it out and leave, thought about it so much until eventually she did leave. Grant Ward, on the other hand brought up Lance's own insecurities coupled with his fears for Jemma. Lance was just her half-brother, in and out of her childhood at his father's whim, but from the moment their mother put the tiny bundle into his arms, he'd felt the to protect her from all pain. But he wasn't sure he could protect her if she gave her heart to that careless playboy.

"Your conscience will do worse to you than Jemma ever could," Bobbi relents a little, "but don't expect to come away unscathed this time."

"I know," Lance says glumly.

Bobbi sighed tiredly. "Jemma will come around. God, look at me. No matter how crazy you drive me, I still love you."

Lance gapes at her a second, then looks decidedly smug.

"Oh just shut up!" she says before he can start. "Make up with her, make it up to her, and be nice about Grant. He makes her happy."

"You think I haven't been ringing her since I cooled off? She won't bloody pick up."

"Imagine that!" Bobbi snarks, getting up and slamming him into the bedroom leaving him thoroughly confused.

He dials Jemma up again. It goes straight to voicemail.

-/-/-/-

Grant can't tell if Jemma is trembling from anger or from crying, but he keeps smoothing his hand down her back because it seems to soothe out some of the tension coiled into her bones.

"I don't know why I'm crying, I'm not even the one in the wrong. I am entitled to a romantic life with anyone I choose," she points out, mostly to herself, he thinks.

"I agree, baby," he replies, resting his chin on the top of her head. He keeps up the comforting petting, if only because he doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't even really like anyone in his family except for his niece Cora and Thomas. And even though he likes Tommy, he doesn't value his opinions enough to be hurt by dissenting ones.

"I'm a grown woman, Grant!" He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

"I'm fully aware, sweetheart," he says, trying to hide his chagrin because he knows she's righteously and truly upset, but seeing her pout is unexpectedly cute.

"He hurt my feelings," she whispers into his shoulder. And that right there was the heart of the issue. Lance hurting her is not cute at all; in fact, it really pissed him off. Taking action won't help anything, though. He needs to let common sense prevail. Siblings fight, he knows that much. In some cases, they make up. Just because he'd had not experience with it didn't mean he wants to prevent that for Jemma.

He pushes away memories of Christian preparing to torture him like an ant beneath a magnifying glass. For now, his sole concern is Jemma, and misplaced rage won't help her.

"Of course he did."

"He was so angry. The things he said… it hurt so much. How could he hurt me so much?"

"Shhh, sweetheart. You are a really good sister, and you love deeply. So it hurts worse. But he's wrong about us, baby, and he's wrong about you. Everything he said – everything – was out of line."

"I don't know what to do, Grant. He's my brother and he came into my home and he said… he called…"

Grant tamps down on his fury and pulls her closer. "It's okay, baby."

He keeps up his soothing circles as her breath hitches even as he leads her over to the couch. She lets him pulls her into his lap, curls against him until her sobs subside to a few hitching breaths.

"Maybe it's time to draw some boundaries," Grant says after a few minutes of quiet. "Show him he doesn't get anymore free passes by trading on your love for him."

"I'm not sure how to do that," she answers, reaching up to wipe her eyes.

"Okay," he says. "How about we start with giving you some time. We go somewhere. You can clear your head and we can spend time together, just you and me, with no shadows hanging over us."

She shakes her head. "I have to work."

"When was the last time you took a real vacation? Not just a day here and there but a real one?"

She's sheepishly quiet for a long moment. "Um, when my mother came stateside. Three years ago."

"Jemma!" He chastises before he can help it.

"I'm a busy woman, Grant," she replies primly.

"We're rectifying that as soon as possible. Call the hospital, see if you can work out a little personal time. After three years, I'll bet more than one someone will be relieved to see you burn a little holiday time."

Her smiles a little tremulously at him, and he can't help a soft kiss to her lips, then her forehead before he tucks her back against him.

"Where would we even go?"

"What would you say to visiting my family home in the Hamptons? It's fall now, so no one would be there but me and you."

He can see her wheels turning. "Could I drive the Tesla?"

He laughs. "Only if you promise to obey all the traffic laws."

She looks up at him with the brightest smile. "What if I live..." She leans up brush her lips over his. "Dangerously," she whispers the last word into his mouth.

He laughs again. God, he is so completely sunk. "I'll think up a proper punishment."

He kisses her and keeps at it and has her melting into him until her phone rings on the coffee table next to them. Hunter's smug face pops up on the lock screen display. Jemma pulls him back in and kisses him again, blindly sending Hunter to voicemail without breaking contact from Grant's lips.

Within a few hours, she's spoken to her boss and he's worked things out with both the precinct and Calina. They're packed for a nearly week away, on the road with the city giving way to countryside. The rich fall colors pass in a blur as Jemma is lulled by the instrumental rock band Grant has put on. She's content to sit in the passenger side, as he'd neatly reminded her that only one of them knew where to go.

The music is a good compromise: the lack of lyrics and classically structured undertones are enough to relax her and modern enough to hold Grant's attention. She had no idea just how perfectly attuned to her he was.

She leans her forehead on the cool glass of the window and takes a bracing breath.

"I was fourteen and lonely when I started Uni," she says into the comfortable silence.

"You don't have to tell me." He reaches over and takes her hand. He pilots the car easily with the other.

"Actually, I do, love," she whispers.

"No, you don't. I already know there is no way a teenage girl is ever at fault for the advances or predation of a grown man. Jemma, whatever happened is in your past and you survived it. I don't need to know or want to know any more than you are every ready to talk about, and I mean really ready, not forced into it because your idiot brother was running his mouth. It won't change a single thing I feel about you. "

"Grant..." She glances at him and, though his touch is gentle, his body language is tense, angry even.

"You asked me, once, why I chose law enforcement? My parents were abusive. Not ever physically, mind you. After all, you can't beat the shit out of your kids if you want to run for president. You can leave all kinds of other bruises though. Mental, emotional… scars are scars. You can pay others to do your dirty work and call it disciplinary action or, as in my case, just let one kid beat the shit out of the others for fun."

He shrugs, seemingly uncaring, and her heart shatters for him. For all his faults, Lance would never harm her intentionally or allow harm to find her.

He glances at her for half a second before turning back to the road. She wonders what he's trying to find in her eyes. If it's judgement or pity he'll find none. Anger, sadness, and the desire to protect him? He'll only see that.

"I eventually got big enough and brave enough to give Christian a taste of his own medicine, and it stopped for me and Tommy. But I became a cop so I could stop all the abusers. I couldn't stop the ones in my family but I can stop the others, wife beaters, predators, men like Calina who trade in addiction and intimidation. I chose mostly undercover jobs because I'm a damn good liar, but I'll never lie to you, Jem. What happened to you was abuse, and maybe if I ever find out who hurt you I'll take the law into my own hands, consequences be damned, but I don't ever want you to worry about me thinking you are some sort of damaged goods."

"So you became a cop to help those with no voice?"

"I guess so, yes."

"That's admirable. And Grant? I won't ever think that either."

"Thank you, baby." He kisses the back of the hand he's still holding.

-/-/-/-

When Grant pulls up to the sprawling mansion, it legitimately takes away Jemma's breath. It reminds her of the family estates back in England, those that are status symbols more than homes. There are so many black-shuttered windows she pities for the cleaning staff. There are at least four chimneys that she can see, not to mention a huge balcony on the far end. There's also a screened-in veranda, and the lawn seems nearly big enough to host the Queen's tea.

If she is awed, Grant is completely nonplussed.

"Welcome to Ward's Haven," he says, shutting of the engine and undoing the seat belt. "It's entirely too extravagant I know," he excuses.

"It's lovely, Grant."

"For now," he says ruefully. "Since my mother isn't home."

He gets out, crossing to her side to help her from the car. He takes both their bags in one hand so he can hold her hand up the mansion steps, whereupon opening the door they are met with an honest-to-God butler.

"Young Master Ward," the older man says warmly.

"Grant. Dixon. Just Grant," Grant says fondly, as though it is a conversation oft-repeated. The other man nods an assent and a voice comes from behind the butler.

"You need a haircut and shave, mijo," says a tiny woman with greying hair pulled into a tight bun. Her smile lines are deep as she beams up at Grant affectionately and fusses at him.

"It's for work, Pilar."

She mutters in Spanish, clearly unimpressed with his excuses, before turning her eye to Jemma.

"Pilar, this is my girlfriend Jemma. Jemma, this is Pilar. And the gentleman is Dixon"

"Nice to meet you," she says brightly, extending her hand for a quick shake even as she stays glued to Grant's side, his hand still in hers.

"The pleasure is ours, miss." Dixon says smoothly. "Grant doesn't bring his girlfriends home. We shall enjoy the novelty."

"Tour?" Grant says, gesturing about the foyer. He knows full well as soon a he and Jemma are out of sight, Dixon will be calling his parents.

-/-/-/-

Everywhere Jemma looks, there are cavernous rooms of dark wood and white walls. The furniture is expensive, and the snow expanse of walls are broken up with seemingly-warm family photos. In every picture, there the smile doesn't reach Grant's eyes, and the falsity makes her heart ache with empathy and regret for him. The rich hominess is strictly a show piece. But she doesn't want Grant to dwell on that. "How do you not get lost?" she asks, unable to keep marvel from her voice.

He looks at her with pure amusement and presses a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Come on, I'll show you my spot." Grant tugs her up another sets of stairs, further and further up still on the winding case. When they reach their destination he's stooped down against the wall, in a partially-hidden alcove in the tiny attic. She moves to the window with a breathtaking view of the beach.

A little cluttered attic was the safe place of the boy who lived here. It says a lot about the man she loves.

It's packed full of forgotten things, hidden away in an almost unreachable place. It reminds her of the part of him he keeps guarded and locked down tight, the part of him she's worked for and wants to keep safe.

He'd wanted to be forgotten and left alone. She wants to cry. She turns to say something, anything, to let him know she understands the deeply personal thing he'd shared in this place. She finds him holding a worn out Snoopy toy. Rubbing his worn cloth ear between his thumb and forefinger.

"What are you thinking Grant?" she asks gently, wrapping her arms around him loosely.

"That I've found the mother of my children." He smiles at her, quick as lightening.

"Really?"

"That wasn't a proposal, yet. You'll know it when I do it. But I've told you things, shown you things this weekend that I've never shared with anyone else, because I've never felt safe the way I do with you."

"Oh, love…" she presses herself closer, wanting to hold him the way she knows he should have been held as a child.

"This was my spot because Christian is afraid of heights. That view? It's one of the few things that terrified him, so here I could forget every awful thing my mother said, every shitty expectation I was born with, every bruise … it was ironically the only safe haven in Ward's Haven."

"Darling..."

"It's okay. And I wasn't without allies… I used to find cookies stashed here, though I'm sure Pilar will still pretend she didn't sneak up her after the house had gone to bed to leave them." The way the sunlight hits his sardonic smile from the window makes her heart clinch . "I'm okay, Jem, that's my point. You opened me up, made me better. I won't give that up for anything."

She nods. "I had my own little safe corner of the world, too. It was in the back garden, or yard, as I supposed you'd say here. We shared with a neighbor and there was a greenhouse the old man had built for his wife. She loved peonies, they were everywhere. I used to pretend it was my own personal lab in STARK Industries..." She paused trying to pick out her words carefully.

He takes her silence as need for support and draws her closer her into him, tucking her head under his chin. She sinks in a moment before speaking. "When you're so smart the world around you moves too slow, people literally cannot relate to you. No one knows how to key into your world. Only my father could...then he died. Lance moved in to help Mum, when she was too enveloped in grief to look after herself, let alone me. He would bring me food and just sit there with me, so that when reality slipped in and my lab became potting soil and plant buckets again I didn't lose my mind. But he couldn't understand me, not like dad, and I was so alone."

She laughs without humour, looking back out at the beach. "That professor, he made it seem like he could, though and I was so starved for commonality I took what I could, even it was from a married man decades my senior. I thought he loved me, I was that daft. On my way to a PhD and I couldn't figure out that the "special" gifts and treatment wasn't affection, it was grooming. Lance figured it out before much of anything happened and there was a scandal… Only there were no more greenhouses to hide in so I came stateside with Lance and went to med school."

"Baby, you're in no way at fault." He kisses the top of her head.

"I know that logically. I just wonder if that is what Lance has truly thought of me all along: a silly girl who makes ill-advised choices. Who still doesn't know what real love is."

"Whatever he thinks about us, he's wrong Jemma." He tilts her chin up. "And he doesn't think that of you. If he does, then he's the one who's stupid not you." He kissed her quickly.

-/-/-/-

He wakes alone and turns over to look for Jemma, finding her sitting on the balcony in a wooden deck chair wearing nothing but his button down from last night's dinner. They've been here a few days already, long enough for her to feel comfortable commandeering the kitchen from Pilar to cook what she called a traditional English dinner. He's been enjoying the domesticity of the past few days with her; walking on the beach, cuddling in front of the television, showering together after his morning run, but there was a lingering sadness even as she let him feed her dessert, and Grant can't help but guess the reason why.

A cup of tea is in her hands, balanced on her up drawn knees. Her headphones are in as she watches the roll in and draw back of the waves. Grant gets up and walks over to squat down beside the chair. He pulls out her ear bud that's playing what he knows is "Wings" by Birdy. He'd caught her singing along lowly as she updated her files last week and googled, it wanting to know all the little things she liked.

"What ya thinkin' so hard about, baby? You've got that cute little forehead wrinkle going." He reaches up between her eyes to smooth it away with his thumb, before setting her tea on one arm rest. He gently grabs her arm to pull her forward so he can slide into the seat behind her before returning her tea.

She sighs tiredly. "I'm working out whether or not I will forgive him."

"Baby, he's your brother and you love him. Does that make things he said right? Or excusable?" He kisses the top of her head, inhaling the scent of his own shampoo. Jemma had forgotten hers and he's not above admitting a possessive pride at knowing she smells like him. "Not by a long shot, but if you're holding out because of his opinion of me, don't. I'd never put you in any position to choose between the people you love."

"And if I forgive him but have no desire to talk to him yet?" she says into her teacup as she sips.

"That's your right."

"I'm putting Bobbi in the middle."

"Morse puts herself there by her own choosing, baby, and honestly? I think she's got your six on this one."

"My six?" She peers up at him, brow furrowed, and he can't help but laugh.

"Your back, baby. She's got your back."

"I think I'll change the locks just to show Lance where the lines are these days. Maybe give Bob the spare and you'll have your copy, obviously." He knows exactly how important her nonchalant statement is. She is letting him past her every wall. Mental, emotional, and physical.

"I love you. You know that?"

"I know. I love you too. I was thinking we could take a walk down the beach. It's a bit overcast but I like it. It reminds me of home."

"That sounds good, want some breakfast with that tea first?"

"Yes, please! I'm starved."

-/-/-/

They eat breakfast and then take a shower together, which leads to slow if somewhat slippery love-making until the water turns cold and they jump out laughing, if not fully satisfied. He's kissing her and walking her back to the bed to finish things when she breaks away from him and shoots across the room with a giggle.

"Go rebandage yourself and dress, we've plans for today and, as talented as you are at distracting me, I will not allow it." She kicks her chin up at him, grinning.

"Fine, but you'll pay not finishing what you started later."

"With pleasure, later, now go."

They walk the beach, Jemma about ten feet in front of him in rolled up jeans, bare feet and a grey and yellow striped top as she skirts the waves looking for shells and sea glass. When a big swell comes in, hitting her knees, she looks back at him with a gleefully-surprised wide smile, her laugh raised over the sound of the ocean. It hits him again, how he knows in no uncertain terms that he doesn't want a life without her. She's all he wants now and forever. He's said it, but he knows she isn't ready to fully believe how serious he is, and he isn't going to push and risk scaring her off.

"Heavens, that's cold."

"Worth it?" He nods to the dark blue glass bits in her hand.

"Unequivocally."

He kisses her because he can't help it, because he wants to, because he can.

-/-/-/-

He makes reservations at the best steak house in South Hampton. He has to trade on his name for the reservation on short notice, but he couldn't care less as she walks toward him in a dress with a neckline that is modest yet dips tantalizingly in a vee between her breasts, and little sleeves he doesn't know the name of. The color is a shade of ripe peach that makes him thing of tasting her skin like the fruit. The skirt is shorter than he's seen her in, only hitting the tops her thighs. It makes her legs look insanely long. She looks, in a word, incredible. Classy and yet sexy. Her hair is wavy and falling in her shoulders.

She cocks her head at him narrowing her perfectly made up eyes at him. "Too much?" When he doesn't respond right away, she chews her bottom lip, painted a vibrant pink. "It's too much. You don't like it. I told Bob-"

"You're perfect. Really."

"Then why are you staring like you don't know me?"

"Because if the first dress I saw you in was sweetly sexy, this one is designed to drive me nuts. I like it. I like it a lot. It makes me want to do all sorts of things to you. Keep the confidence up, baby, you look gorgeous, I promise."

She gives him a glittering smile and folds herself carefully to get into the car. Before he closes the door behind her, he dips down to kiss her neck and nip lightly at her collarbone, just to hear her breath hitch.

About ten minutes from their destination, Jemma gives him that look that means she wants him to do all the completely debauched things to her that his kiss promised. It's just a cut of her eyes and a little smirk, but he knows it all too well.

"Jemma," he says warily, watching her undo her seatbelt. "Put that back on, it's unsafe."

"No, thank you, detective, I'd rather live dangerously," she replies. She leans across the armrest to press into his side and kiss the spot on his neck that is dead sure to get him hard in three seconds flat.

"Baby..."

"You can arrest me later, for now..." She strokes her hand up his thigh and over his cock to caress him through the suddenly tight slacks. Then she undoes his belt. "Just enjoy and keep driving."

She pops the buttons and has the zipper down in seconds. Then her hands are keeping up, a steady stroke on him, her thumb flicking the underside of the crown where his nerves are hypersensitive. "Jemma, please baby..." He begs through gritted teeth unsure if he's asking her to stop or go one step further.

Before he can decide, she's bent over him taking him into her mouth. She takes all of him, her hair tickling his pelvic bone.

"Fuck me..." He curses, jerking the car off the road and on to the shoulder and behind some rocks bordering the beach.

She keeps up the stroking and sucking and he doesn't even stop to think as he wraps his hand into her hair and his hips move upward. "Fuck...I love you," he says tightly and she laughs, damn her and those gorgeous vibrations, and it has him teetering on the edge.

"Stop, stop, stop..."

Pulling away, she pouts. "Why?"

He moves the seat to lie back a bit and drags her on top of him. It's still a tight fit but they'll make it work.

"Because I'd rather be inside you," he says as he hikes up that insanely short skirt of her to find she's not wearing panties. "Jesus, fuck your going to kill me."

She just smiles at him in complete satisfaction, pressed back on the steering wheel. He presses his fingers into her cunt, finds her wet and ready for him. He grips her hips to pull her forward and guides her onto him. She sinks down and he drives up, finding a perfect rhythm.

He kisses her lips, her neck, he tugs the dress top down as far as he can to get at her shoulders and breasts. There's not enough skin. He wants her naked and screaming, and he drives into her harder and harder. He tries to remember to be gentle, but he just can't because she knows exactly which buttons to push to drive him insane.

When he tries to slow down, she presses her forehead against his, seeming to understand. "No, no, don't stop," she gasps out. "I like it." She grips the seat to take control and rides him, rolling her hips against him harder as she dips down to kiss daylights out of him. He slides his hands around her back to pull her hard against him, to hit the deepest parts of her, and she breaks away from him mouth with a wanton moan.

She's soon whining for release, but he holds her on the edge a little longer, wrapping the tension a little higher as he slides in and out of her slick cunt.

"Help me... I can't... please, Grant. Please."

He smiles, because he knows the payoff for her wait is going to be worth it. He reaches between them to tease her clit and sends her into an orgasm, almost sobbing in relief. He grits his teeth to keep from losing himself right away, and just before she can come down from the high, he's pushing into her just right, fingers rubbing her in an exquisite pattern, and she's fluttering around him again. She cries out his name, voice throaty with surprise and pleasure, and after a few quick thrusts he, too, comes so hard his balls ache.

The only sounds to be heard are the subtle idling of the car engine, their ragged breathing, and the radio playing lowly.

"Fuck, I love you, too," Jemma replies as he adjusts her dress where he's tugged it out of shape, then he strokes his hands down her thighs.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not at all...though the steering wheel is becoming a bother." She kisses him a final time before kneeling up so he slips out of her. He reaches back to pull some tissues from the box in the back, gently cleaning between her thighs, careful as he knows she's going to be sensitive a while. She smiles fondly at him as she goes back to her own seat, fixing her skirt and re-buckling her seat belt. "I'm starving!"

He tucks himself back into his pants. "I left a little mark..." He brushes his thumb along the beard-burned line of her delicate jaw.

"At least the waitress will know you're quite taken."

"I am quite taken with you," he puns as he starts up the car, and she must be perfect for him, because she laughs and takes his hand.

-/-/=

The prospect of rejoining the real world has them both a bit down, so when he tosses Jemma the keys, he truly loves watching the way her eyes light up. "Drive home?"

"Really? Yes!"

"Obey the traffic laws." He winks at her.

"Yes, darling," she teases in retort.

He's not sure why he's surprised she's a good driver, but she is, pressing the boundaries of the law but never breaking them. She holds his hand unless she needs to shift gears, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Before too long, he's lulled to sleep by the passing scenery and her soft humming.

He wakes to her kissing him. "We're home. I saw you drift off. Did you have a nice nap?"

"Yeah, sorry. I wasn't much company for the ride home." He pulls her in for another kiss. "This job has me wiped. Luckily we're pulling the trigger soon.'

'I'm just glad you could rest, though I must say through once this all slows down, I look forward to have you all to myself a little more often."

He smiles at her, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I look forward focusing on you and only you."

He kisses her again, long and slow. He wants to stretch this moment out and make it last until Calina takes up his world again.

She breaks away. "I should be getting inside. I'm expecting the locksmith at three."

She leans in to kiss him again. At that moment his phone rings. "What?" he barks impatiently.

"Bad time, Ward?" Garrett says.

"Sorry, Sergeant. How can I help?"

"There is something not quiet right with one of Calina's Capos. You need to come in, fill in some blanks.

"I'll remove your stitches, come by at six?" Jemma says quietly, sliding from the car.

"Yes." He answers them both. He mouths an "I love you" to Jemma, hauling himself over the console as she stands on the side walk. He nods at her, letting her know he isn't leaving until she is safely inside. She blows him a final kiss and turns away, heading for the door.

"Are you on your way?"

"Yes, sir, just one second."

Jemma safely inside and her protection detail a few cars back, he pulls off, hanging up on Garrett.

-/-/-

The moment Jemma steps into her living room, she is hyper aware that something is very wrong. There is a man sitting on her couch and it is not Lance, come to make everything right.

She drops her bag and runs for the door but he's fast and brutally strong, catching her by her hair and wrenching her back even as she gropes for a weapon. Where's that bloody bat Bobbi had insisted she keep, she thinks wildly. She has her fingertips on its base when the man slams her back into the door. Everything goes black.


	6. Burnt Matches

AN: I made Criminal Minds references but you don't need to know of that show to understand this!-MM 

 

Bobbi listens to the phone ring. Bobbi puts her purse and keys in her locker and holster's her glock. Before she pulls out her kevlar vest in case she needs to put it on later today. She carries it in one hand and the phone in the other, and journey's to her desk in the bullpen, she had passed Ward on the way in and a downright goofy grin paints his face. It was almost sweet. 

 

"Hello, you've reached Jemma Simmons,” comes the pre-recorded message. “I can't answer my mobile at this time, so please leave a message at the tone and I shall return your call." 

 

"Hey Jem,” Bobbi says after the beep. “I just saw Ward walk in with big ass grin on his entirely too pretty mug. I'm assuming that's directly related to you. I wanna hear all about your vacation, call me back so we can plan girls’ night. Love ya!" 

 

A few minutes later, she heads into Garrett's office where the full task force – not just the prime players this time - is finally meeting on the Calina Operation. 

 

She folds herself into a chair long table flanking the back of the room as Grant takes a seat at the front with Garrett. 

 

Captain May, who oversees VICE, stands to Grant's left looking bored with Garrett's very existence. 

 

"What ya got?" Garrett asks, shifting back in his seat. 

 

"It’s time to pull the plug. I've gained Calina’s trust enough to meet his cartel distributors, thanks to a show of loyalty even after he stuck a knife in me. We’ll have enough to bring down RICO on his head." 

 

Bobbi rockets back to her feet. "Wait!” she interrupts. He attacked you?" 

 

"Yeah. He had me followed, saw me with Jemma, so I implied I was working her, to get her selling off scripts. I wasn't working her fast enough, so he stabbed me to appeal to her Hippocratic sensibilities. Probably had ears on the hospitals, to see if I’d go in." 

 

"Oh my God, Ward,” Bobbi says, heedless of the others in the room. “I can't believe I'm going to say this, but maybe Lance was right! I should have never brought you into Jem’s life." She laughs dryly, beginning to pace. Suddenly being still seems to be the last thing she can do. 

 

"You're overreacting,” Ward bites back. “Calina never learned her name and I worked it with Garrett so that she's in no legal or physical danger. I had to fabricate things to have excuses to see her, and that’s what fit." 

 

"Well, you shouldn’t have been seeing her while you were undercover!" She throws at him. May's eyebrows rise and Garrett laughs, but neither moves to stop it, though. " I thought you were smart enough to keep things separate from your cover, and to go dark when you were under. The only reason I didn’t stop her from your little jaunt was because the Op was wrapping and you could start to ramp up, but now I’m finding out you pulled her in? A civilian? I should shoot you right now.” 

 

"I had her flagged, Bobbi, I'm not careless! You’re the one who set us up!" he points out just as loudly. 

 

"Yes! I did. Because I thought, surely to God he's smart enough not to bring my sister to the attention of the dirt bag we're trying to catch, a guy who beheads his fucking enemies, Ward!" 

 

"I had Garrett put a protection detail on her,” Grant juts his chin at the man in question. “I followed procedure to keep her safe. I watched her walk inside her building before I left. She's fine! You act as though I threw her to the wolves." 

 

"Enough," Captain May says. She doesn’t raise her voice, but at her tone the room drops silent. "Since Miss..." 

 

"Doctor Simmons," Grant and Morse provide in unison. 

 

"Since Dr. Simmons is under the protection of NYPD, you can revisit your argument on your own time. Right now, Ward has an Op to report on, and we need to determine whether he’s accrued enough actionable Intel to warrant an termination.” 

 

At May’s commanding tone, the meeting resumes to its track, and Bobbi takes her seat again. If the anger Bobbi is shooting at her with her eyes, could be physically manifested He'd be on fire and the kicked puppy look on his face right now would probably make Hunter's year. 

 

Jemma is safe, He knows that he believes it. Though he can admit if only to himself being in love has made him rash and reckless, he could have been smarter about it but if he'd done that there'd be no him and Jemma, and not even the ire visibly vibrating through Morse will be making him feel guilt for what they have. 

 

-/-/- 

 

Jemma still isn’t answering his calls. Lance knows for a fact she's back in town thanks to Bobbi's text an hour ago. He decides to pull out the big guns: groveling and chocolate. It's nothing if not effective on Bobbi, anyway. Jemma’s never made him apologize before, always a bit of a pushover for her big brother, no matter how much of an ass he’s been in the past, and he feels even guiltier for taking her forgiving nature for granted. He’s really cocked up this time, and he knows it. So he climbs the steps with a box of her favorite fudge-covered strawberries in hand and an entire apology speech memorized because he doesn't want to put his foot in it again by going on the fly. 

 

He knocks on the door and waits a long silent moment. 

 

"Jemma." More silence. "Jemmie! Honestly, Squeaks? Are you seriously going to make me apologize to the bloody door like a duffer?" 

 

There’s no so much as a stirring from behind the barrier. Lance almost reaches out to open the door, even thinks about using his key, but stops himself. His lack of boundaries is what put them here in the first place, and he means to show her he’s truly listened to her. "Alright, to the door it is, then." 

 

"I’m sorry. I buggered everything up," he confesses with a self-pitying sigh before continuing on. "Big! I know that. So even though I fully doubt Ward's sincerity, I don't doubt yours. Because when you love someone? You do it right. I'd know." 

 

Jemma had always trusted him, thought he hung the moon even when the whole world thought he was a fuck up. As for him, well, he’s always felt a need to shelter and safeguard her, even when she didn’t need him to do so. From the first time their mother had given Jemma to him to hold, something had clicked for him. That instinct to protect had come forward when she had squeaked at him in her sleep. He'd been holding on to her too tightly, surprise, surprise. It would seem he’s been holding her too tightly again. 

 

"You see the whole person, Jem. If you see good, it's almost always there. I trust you to know your own mind. I know I need to let and stop following behind you, stop trying to keep you from knocking your head on the edges of life no matter how much I want to make sure nothing causes you pain. Because, bugger it all, after all my intentions, I’m the one who hurt you." He can picture her on the other side, arms crossed, a half sad , half perturbed look on her face. as if she's trying to decide his own sincerity. 

 

He sets the box of strawberries down on the stair post then continues on seriously. "I was wrong to bring up that perverted professor and that sorry wanker Bakshi." 

 

He grudgingly confesses the truth with a groan." .And I still think Ward’s a wanker who’s not good enough for you, but to be fair, not sure I’d ever think anyone is good enough for my little sister. I’m willing to play nice with him, for you. Or at least not punch his pretty face in. Wish I could say I’m a better person than a’ that, but ‘m not, and you know that. And I could stand here for ages telling you how sorry I am and never feel fully absolved even if you forgave me. I love you, and I'm beyond sorry, Jemma." 

 

"Squeaks?" There's only silence greeting him. "I took the tube to get here, Jemma! You know how I feel about the tube. I'm not going anywhere. I will stand here till the apocalypse or until you open the door and let me apologize properly. You know I will." When she doesn't reply, he settles in. 

 

He sinks down on to the steps to wait her out without another word. 

 

-/-/- 

 

When they decide to exfil the operation, they chose to move on Calina's deli. It has become one of his better known hangouts and was likely to house most of his men during the take down. This also means Grant has to be arrested with them to maintain cover. 

 

It happens fast and May puts him down hard. At first it seems like overkill until, face pressed to the dirty hardwood on his left, is a cursing but unsuspecting Calina. 

 

Everything is going to plan. 

 

They book him and they stick all of the Capos in separate cells so Ward can be safely and quietly released to do his paperwork. 

 

-/-/- 

 

Ward's going through the arrests list when he realizes a name is missing. 

 

"Morse," he calls, and she turns the chair that she's slouched down lazily in. "Why isn't Carlo Lucio on the intake list?" 

 

"We didn't arrest him." She fiddles with her pen. "Why?" 

 

"Because he's weird as fuck and fiercely loyal to Calina. Obsessively, even. It’s going to cause us problems. I never could quite draw him in enough" He says distractedly, not looking up from his processing forms. 

 

“Think he could take over the organization, when we put Calina away?” 

 

“Nah,” Ward says. “He’s not the leader type. It’s just more that he’s a weapon of chaos, and I’m not entirely sure what happens without Calina pointing it.” 

 

Bobbi shrugged "Someone will cut a deal and we'll get him. Don't stress over it." 

 

He looks hard at Morse. "I hope you're right." 

 

"Jesus stop brooding finish your paper work and go home to Jemma." 

 

And that's exactly what he intends to do. 

 

-/-/-/- 

 

He's forty minutes later than he told Jemma he'd be. Hunter is sprawled across Jemma's front stoop, eating chocolate covered strawberries and yammering at the firmly closed door. This is not the Brit he wanted to which Grant wanted to come home. 

 

He doesn't want to acknowledge him whatsoever. He could just step over him and knock, but as he mounts the steps he sees Jemma's detail is no longer parked in front of the third door down. It could mean they’ve followed her on an outing, but she’d have texted or called to let him know she wasn’t at home. Garrett must have pulled them as soon as the takedown was over. 

 

"When did you get here?" Grant asks, glancing down at Hunter. 

 

"Four. Why? She's icing me out," He shrugs. "It’s taking longer for her feathers to unruffle than I’d hoped but.... MY RESOLVE IS UNSHAKABLE!" he shouts the last bit. 

 

There's an uncomfortable tightness growing in the pit of Grant’s stomach. Something is off. Even as mad as she is, even if she wasn’t ready to speak to Hunter, Grant knows she wouldn’t leave him out in the streets with night coming on. If she wasn’t going to let him in, she’d at least send him away. 

 

"Jemma! If you're there, it’s me!" he calls out. There are few perfectly silent seconds. 

 

Hunter gets to his feet. "She's just ang-" 

 

"Use your key," Grant commands, feeling sicker by the second. Lucio had seen her and he’s still on the loose. 

 

When the lock snicks home and the knob turns, Grant fight off the urge to vomit. 

 

It’s clear from the state of her tiny foyer that she'd been forcibly removed. The mirror on the left wall has been broken; glass and droplets of blood litter the floor. A plant is turned over, the scent of the crushed bloom filling the air. He'll never again smell orchids without the choking panic rising in his chest as it is now. Set carefully dead center is an open book of matches, their blacked tips burned and extinguished. 

 

"Who bloody did this?" Hunter asks, voicing the anger and fear Grant himself is feeling. "And where did they take her?" 

 

-/-/-/- 

 

Penelope Garcia stands in the conference room in front of the BAU, preparing to run down the latest case. She double-checks that all of her slides are in place. 

 

"Three women have gone missing in three of New York's boroughs, only to be found later, partially burned and made in the likeness of one of the female saints. At each of the scenes of the abductions, police found a book of burned matches, from different hotels and clubs, with no prints." She clicks through the victim photos, trying not to look at the bodies. "The press is already calling him the All Saints Killer." 

 

She takes a deep breath. 

 

"Ten hours ago, this woman’s brother and police detective boyfriend went into her home to find signs of a struggle and the signature matches.” Garcia finishes on the slide of the medical ID badge picture of the brightly smiling brunette. “Her name is Jemma Simmons. And we need to find her." 

 

I own nothing, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Many thanks to my lovely beta Myranda! If you feel so inclined please leave commentary. -MM


	7. Saint Rita

Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, weak people love weakly, violent people love violently, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. 

-Toni Morrison.

"The unsub clearly has a narcissistic streak as well as religious zealotry. He's imposing his beliefs on the victims; he's literally purifying them with fire," SSA Spencer Reid muses looking to the left to morgan in the jet seat beside him.

"The doctor doesn't fit his victimology. Aside from her hair color, he's gone completely off book. He always picks targets that won't be missed or that he sees as less than himself. Sex workers and drug addicts. What does he want with Manhattan trauma surgeon who, by all accounts, spends all her free time at home or with close friends and family?" Morgan countered dropping the disturbing file on the table sitting between the seats where JJ and Penelope sit across from them. Rossi and hotch sit in the perpinduclar row, Prentiss stands in the aisle.

"Maybe he's devolving and she was convenient?" JJ suggest.

"He could see her as too perfect. She does work at St. Rita's hospital. Patron Saint of the impossible." Prentiss adds.

"I like the boyfriend for it," Rossi break in. "He definitely has the skill for it. He could be evolving: make the saint fall in love, and suddenly they aren't so saintly, they're human."

Garcia chimes in, passing out an additional file to the team. "I've done a little more digging. Grant Ward, undercover vice agent. Commendations out the wazoo and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, might I add. He also has enough money to make a Kennedy jealous. He seems to be the black sheep of the family, or at least is on the outs with them. Congressman father, senator brother, a socialite mother and little brother who's a Marine. None of them are red flagged, by the way, though his niece is. The only others are one ex-girlfriend and his current and very missing girlfriend. She's a recent flag and holy hell! She's the girl English version of you, Reid!"

"What do you mean Garcia?" Hotch interjects.

"She had two PhD's at 17, despite a transfer to the States midway through her second, and finished med school at 20. She's 27 and is already an attending surgeon working on a fellowship. Like I said, she's Reid."

"Morgan, interview the family and boyfriend. Prentiss and JJ, to the ME's office. Rossi and Reid, you can head to the abduction scene and I'll confer with local law enforcement. Something is off. Detective Ward flagged her as a potential risk while undercover, she should have been under some kind of protection."

"What was his reason for flagging her? He'd only done so twice before," Reid asks.

"It reads like he loves her and Calina wouldn't hesitate to use that when crossed."

-/-/-

They's report her missing and spent hours in a conference room off the bullpen, staring at one another wordlessly. Bobbi stares at Hunter, who stares at Grant while they wait for the Behavioral Analysis Unit May called in to arrive and take over.

"They'll find her, right? This BAU thing, it's what they do?"

"They stop serial killers, babe," Bobbi answers gently. "It's as bad as you think."

Hunter turns whiter than the sheets Grant had slept on with Jemma last night.

"Those matches you and Ward found are, according to homicide, the signature of a serial murderer currently killing his way through the Burroughs," she confesses. Hunter's face goes stormy. "I don't want you to be blindsided by this when the BAU gets here, Lance. Jemma needs you sharp, at your best, so you need to be prepared. This is very, very bad."

"Jemma's not in the Burroughs," Hunter protests. "So why the hell this turning up at her place?"

"I don't know," Bobbi says. "I'm sure the BAU will look into it. But for now, we just need to keep our heads."

Hunter doesn't move a muscle when he makes the accusation Grant knows is coming, he doesn't raise his voice, just jerks his chin at Grant. "Is her involvement with you the reason for all this?"

"Honestly, I don't know," he replies. It's the flat calmness, the numbness that is usually followed an especially bad beating, that lets him know a full tilt meltdown is coming for him. "I'll never forgive myself if it is."

-/-/-/-

Jemma wakes tied to a wooden chair in a basement. It's dark but for a small window no bigger than a bread box. There's murky light pouring through the grungy pane but she can't gauge what time of day it is. The room smells mostly musty, but there's also pungent chemical smell on the air. This dank place will be her last, she's suddenly sure, if Grant cannot find her.

She can hear a plane flying overhead. If she waits long enough to pick out the flight patterns she might be able to triangulate her location. The trick will be getting a message out to someone.

There are boots scuffing heavily down the stairs.

-/-/-

Morgan watches the room a moment. A couple sits off to one side together, the brother and his ex-wife. Ward, recognizable from the cheekbones Garcia had raved about even if Morgan hadn't seen the picture in the file, sits completely alone across from them. He'll take him first. "I'm SSA Derek Morgan with the BAU, I'd like ask a few questions about Miss Simmons' disappearance."

"Don't you think if we knew anything, we would have told them at some point within the last five thousand bloody questions?" the brother snipes at him impatiently.

"They don't ask the question the way I do."

"Doctor." Ward says quietly.

"What's that?"

"Doctor Simmons. Not Miss. Doctor."

"Doctor Simmons," Morgan says, filing the numb tone away for consideration."You were last seen with her before the abduction, correct, Detective Ward?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd like to start with you."

-/-/-

They set the team up in an empty conference room. It had been the one they used when deciding exit strategies. Grant sits in the same chair he had before. He'd taken a class on memory retrieval, so he understands what the agent is trying to do

Grant follows the breathing technique.

"You're in the car with her, what do you see?" Morgan's voice is low and calm off to his left.

"I was asleep, I let her drive home. She never turned off the ignition. I woke up when she undid her seatbelt."

"Okay," Morgan says. "What does she do next?"

"When I came fully awake she was leaned over me, I think? She smiles at me and is talking. Her street is quiet behind her, traffic must have been rerouted or something. There's a blue van, fresh and clean laundry services. And a green car."

"Which one stands out?"

"Thought I'd seen the green one before," He opens his eyes. "I thought it was her detail. License plate started with HPQ. Both vehicles were gone when I returned. I assumed that her detail was lifted due to the Op being finished."

"Alright. We'll run the partial plate and locate any local laundry service vans."

-/-/-/-

Penelope processes all the data she is given and she knows something is off. She looks again. When she pieces it all together, her stomach drops.

-/-/-

Aaron Hotchner's phone rings as he is running down their last Op with Captain May for anything that may be of use.

"Penelope?"

"Sir, Jemma Simmons security detail was never actually issued. I checked the partial plate against all department vehicles and nothing came up. Complete and total goose egg."

-/-/-

"You want some coffee, Bob?" She ignores Lance and continues watching the stuffy FBI guy's lips. He'd gone into Garrett's office and its clear from the man's hard expression something is wrong. She and Grant aren't allowed on the case. Grant has tasked the men under him with sneaking him surveillance footage which he pours over on his tablet between bouts of pacing.

She continues observation because at least that way they stand half a chance of learning something valuable. She never thought her ill-advised affair with Clint Barton could come in handy. Between rolls in the hay on their honeymoon in Las Vegas, he'd taught her to read lips.

"Why wasn't Detective Ward's request for safety monitoring on Miss Simmons not followed through?" She watches the straight-laced FBI guy ask.

"Bobbi?" Lance repeats and she shushes him absently.

"Who says it wasn't?"

"Your own department's man power logs and my technical analyst."

"It's a big department, I assume her paper work fell through the cracks. Lots of moving parts, I can't coddle every piece of ass that catches Ward's eye," Garrett retorts with a smirk that makes her blood boil.

"You're lying. I think you either didn't want to lose momentum on your Op, maybe even have to abort it because your officer became compromised, or you were arrogant and lazy and simply ignored the request."

"You still have to prove it," he taunts. Bobbi pushes to her feet and is in his office in six long-legged determined steps.

The door slams against the wall. The glass cut out bearing Garrett's name rattles with the force of it. She launches herself on him, landing three solid hits before Ward and Morgan are in the room and pulling her off Garrett. His right eye is swollen, his jaw is already beginning to bruise, and he touches his nose as if surprised to find it bloody.

"What the hell, Morse?" Ward asks.

"She's just gotten herself fired, that's what!"

"He decided Jemma wasn't worthy of protection!" Bobbi spits out. "He never submitted your request. He let Jemma get taken by a serial killer and he's smirking and he's lucky I just hit him."

Hotch's phone rings before Ward can make any play for killing Garrett himself.

-/-/-/-

"The first victims were killed by smoke inhalation from the fires set to their clothing. This last one though, the burns are strictly post mortem and the hyoid bone is crushed," The ME says as JJ and Prentiss look down at the remains of Maia Hernandez. She was a small time call girl working in the Bronx, almost as far from the high profile Dr. Simmons as one could get. "I also found tiny white particulates in the vic's throat and nose. They weren't inhaled, were simply lying in the mucus membranes."

"What was it?" Prentiss asks.

"Plaster, the kind you use for making casts."

"He's evolving then, dressing them and burning them, he's remaking them in an image of his choosing," JJ muses aloud. "But what was the trigger?"

-/-/-/-

The clock is ticking. Reid and Rossi can practically hear it as they inspect abduction scene. Reid bends down to inspect the fine white dust streaking across the floor of the entry way. He rubs it between his fingers. "Plaster. Like JJ texted."

"According to Garcia, the launderer was the only one in or out of Jemma's building for hours, which means he hung around familiarized himself, possible left a mark of own behind other than the burned matches," Rossi said.

"There's order even in Jemma's disorder. The kitchen looks messy but it's not, everything is organized around frequency of use, mostly the microwave. She doesn't cook often."

"Not a surprise, given a surgeon's schedule," Rossi points out. "It may be infrequently used, but that isn't the kind of cookware you buy if you don't know what you're doing."

"Fair," Reid say. "But look. Even her laundry bins are organized by color and use, medical scrubs plain clothes, dress clothes…"

"If, according to her boyfriend, she did her own laundry and just got back from a weekend away, why it empty?"

"It's how he transported her," Reid realizes.

"Garcia is still tracking the van down," Rossi calls back.

They move into the bedroom. There in a frame on the bedside table amongst Jemma's hand lotion, books, and medical journal.

"It's silver," Rossi says, grabbing it and passing it to Reid. "Every other one in her home is dark wood. That eidetic memory of yours see anything familiar?"

Under the glass is a photo of three men.

"That's Calina," Reid says, "With his lieutenant Lucio. And it's hard to tell with the lines of the jumpsuit, but I'm fairly certain the one with the face is burned out is Detective Ward."

-/-/-

The man holding her captive is young, less than a decade older than she is, and rather handsome. It's startling. She's not sure what she was expecting. He was so intimidating in the initial attack, that nothing penetrated beyond that terror.

"What do you want?" she struggles against her bindings. Zip ties. She would break them like Bobbi taught her if it wasn't for the pounding in her head. It's preventing her from remembering which technique would work best.

"What do you want with me?" she asks again. He looks down his nose at her.

"I want revenge." He gives her a sharp smile. "What motivates you?"

"Currently? The desire not to die."

He laughs. "You've got a sense of humor." He takes a chair and turns it backward to sit down. She refuses to flinch at the creepy intensity of his eyes. "Too bad it won't save you."

"From what?"

"Purification. You clearly need it, whore."

-/-/-/-

"Look this very clearly related to my case, the guy was rumored to kill for Calina, then burn the remains in effigy," Ward sighs, frustrated. His phone rings and he silences it. "My mother, trying to send in her lawyers."

"You don't want legal counsel?" Rossi asks.

"What I want is to find my girlfriend. I think I pissed off Carlo Lucio. That's something none of us want and, contrary to what my mother thinks, the Ward name doesn't always carry weight. So let's all do our jobs and find Jemma before that psycho hurts her."

"Can you give us background on Lucio?" Hotchner asks.

"I don't know much beyond what was in my files. Lucio was Calina's heir apparent until I got under with his crew. I ousted him. Lucio is the son of Calina's mistress, though not Calina's kid. Calina doesn't have children."

"What was their relationship like?" Rossi prods.

"Lucio was highly submissive but only to Calina. Outside that, he was a loner and incredibly religious. He never, ever missed mass, not even at Calina's request. Lucio had some twisted morals but he had them. Calina is a hedonist. So was my cover. Calina was easy to win over, for the most part, and I'm good at what I do. But Lucio didn't make any moves, seemed still inclined to do what Calina said, including let the roles change, so…"

Rossi leaned forward "You didn't see Lucio as a threat?"

"Not until I found out Calina was paranoid and having me followed. Lucio was just – off - and knowing based off commentary he made that he'd witnessed some intimate things between Jemma and I worried me."

"What alarmed you?" Hotch asked.

"The guy is just creepy. I mean, I've seen the man pay for a lap dance but forced the girl to not make eye contact."

-/-/-

"We are almost certain the unsub is Carlo Lucio. He's a zealot with a chauvinistic world view," Rossi says.

"He was likely forced into submissiveness by a paternal figure whom he now perceives as god-like. As result of religious zealotry, he likely saw his mother's relationships as impure and, as result he subjugates women, even going so far as to murder them in an attempt to cleanse his world," Morgan continues.

"He lives in the world of organized crime, the head of the subset of the cartel he worked for demoted him, and likely triggered him taking the latest victim, Jemma Simmons. She doesn't fit his usual victimology, but he is definitely aware that she's the lover of the man who usurped him, " Reid says. "And given his views on women and sex? She's definitely in danger.

"He was like witness to his mother being prostituted or abuse, thus forming his social inadequacies and psychopathy," Prentiss chimes in.

"His methods lead us to believe he frequents small churches or missions, and where he's holding her likely has some sort of religious past or significance." JJ adds in. "And we think this is how we can find him."

-/-/-

The room is doused in kerosene and there is an oddly pungent incense scent that lingers on the edges of it. The whole time he's filling the room with noxious smell, he mutters about making that traitorous, brown-nosing rat Santoro pay. "If that's even his real name," he spits at her.

Fear rises in her chest and makes her heart pounds against her ribs. She's very likely going to die soon just because of who she loves. That should make her feel some form of despair or regret. It doesn't; it makes her bold.

"He's going to find you. He's going to find you and make you wish you were never born."

He laughs and begins to mix what she recognizes as the plaster she's had to use for medical casts.

The religious aspects, baptism by fire make a sort of sense to her. The plaster doesn't fit within the parameters for what he has shown himself to be. It sends an odd icy shiver down her spine as he carefully lays out plaster-coated Curlex strips.

"You seem rather sure of that sweetheart. Men are almost as fickle as you bitches are. You must be some piece of tail. I'd sample you myself if I wasn't so disgusted by the fact Santoro's already shoved his cock up in you."

"See, that's where you're wrong, he's not going to kill you for defiling his favored shag. He's going to kill you for trying to take away the person who gives him safety and love. He's not going leave you weeping in puddles of your own shit and blood because he's fucked me, but because you take away something like this, you strip away the love we share, and he'll lose all humanity. Worse than Calina. You can't con a man like that without some of it being present in him already."

The slap a cross her face is so hard pain explodes behind her eyes and leaves her face tinging. There is a ringing sound in her ears as he lands more blows. It sounds like an alarm bell.

-/-/-

"Found her!" Garcia exclaims, raising her arms in victory. "With the religious overtones to the crime, I thought it best to look into Calina as well, with his business connections. As it turns out, Calina's shell construction company currently owns a former Catholic boys school called St. Francis Preparatory School. Which is also the alma mater of one Carlo Lucio. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

"It's almost time for midnight mass. If he's going to kill her, it'll be then," Reid says.  
Everyone silently agrees with him.

"Question is, how do we keep them off scene?" JJ asks, nodding at Grant sitting in a chair leaned tensely forward, Bobbi and Lance watching just as intently from where they hold hands outside the conference room.

"I don't think we can," Morgan answers.

-/-/-

The FBI unit basically leaves in a hurried drove. Ward and Bobbi go into the quickly-emptying conference room to try and fail to get information. Lance hates the impotent feeling coursing through him now; some crazy man has his sister and Lance can do nothing. The only thing that makes his self-loathing ease is his hatred of Ward for putting Jemma in this position.

Bobbi strides toward him purposefully, Ward not far behind.

"They think they've found him, I got the address they gave to squad units. Let's go, we have to hurry he always strikes right at midnight, like he's conducting mass. Its 11:40 now."

The racing drive to the location is silent but he knows eventually the tension built between him and Ward will break in a huge clash.

-/-/-

Grant's heart is lodged unmoving in his throat, choking off his air way. When they pull up just behind the FBI team, he can see the little chapel in the middle of the school complex is on fire. Tears sting his eyes. He took something from Lucio so now Lucio will take something from him. Hunter had been muttering on and off about how if Jemma was hurt it would be Grant's fault. Blood on his hands. But even he quiet now.

Lance is first out of the car running pell-mell toward the flames. Morse has to tackle him to the ground, but she can't keep them both under control so he takes Hunters 's spot and makes it to the chapel's white-washed concrete steps before he is speared off his feet and smashed into the ground. He gets off a few good punches and a kick before a big booming voice orders him to stop.

It's Mack. That's Mack's voice.

"Get off me! Get the fuck off me, I've got to get to her! I love her! I promised I keep her safe!"

"That's what he wants you to do. He wants you to swoop in save her so he can burn you both. I'm not letting that happen, so you can chill here on the ground or over by the ambulance. The FBI folks are getting her out, Grant. They aren't going to let him win."

-/-/-

That unique, unforgettably sweet-smelling smoke getting stronger should be a bigger worry but since the plaster around her mouth is drying and going stiff, she can't think about what that mean. Panic overtakes her so that she passes out and regains consciousness only when the pain is worse than the fear.

She is going to die. She has accepted it. If Lucio wants her repentance, he shall find none in her. She has no regrets about whom, how, or why she loved the people she did. She can only hope Lance won't be too hard on himself about their argument.

She hopes Bobbi always knows how at home, how peaceful, being her friend, her sister, made Jemma feel.

She hopes Grant knows how deeply she loves him and that she could never regret it. Even if it lead her, indirectly, here.

She'd cry if the plaster hadn't already absorbed every fluid in and or on her body. It sounds like shouting around her, not flames, but she's sure she is simply losing her mind in the last moments of life.

She chooses to be elsewhere, in a place where fear can't touch her.

She goes back through her memories, takes herself to the porch in South Hampton. With Grant's arms around her, making her feel safe and shielded.

She chooses dreams and forgets reality, takes comfort where she can, not for the first time in her life. But for the last.

-/-/-

"I've got eyes on the unsub and victim." Or Morgan does in some manner of speaking. "The unsub has her harnessed to what looks like a giant doll stand. She is in a cast, painted and posed like St. Rita."

-/-/-/-

Morgan has run up on many cases that are odd but this one is going to stick with him. He has never, in all his years with the BAU, seen a victim encased in plaster on a human sized doll stand in the middle of a burning church atrium.

And the guy is watching the place burn from the edges like he'd expected to be caught. Maybe he had, or maybe he'd simply given up, unable to find release within the crime this time because his motivations were different this time.

Prentiss makes their presence known. "FBI! Carlo Lucio, you're under arrest for the murders of-" The unsub urns, raises his gun and fires wildly. Prentiss drops him, bullets to the center of his chest.

There are no visible ventilation holes in the plaster and as they get closer he can hear the fearful hitched breathing of someone running out air.

"Hey sweetheart, I'm Derek Morgan with the BAU. Just keep breathing for me, okay? We're going to get you out there." He gets no response. Not even a gasp of air.

"We need a bus and rescue unit, now. She's totally enveloped in this thing. I need to know how to cut her out, now!" he radios over.

"He had to have tools to put her in the damn thing. Grab a chisel and knock a hole in the base of the neck to create an air vent. Be careful, you miss and break her hyoid bone not only will it hurt like a son of bitch, you can compromise her airway," comes the very calm, clipped voice of the fire chief. Derek thinks his name wis Coulson. "I'm on my way in."

The fire is begging to be put out around them as they speak.

He picks up a tool that looks like a flat head screwdriver and chips a hole exactly as he was told to do. He can hear Jemma take a wheezing breath. He bought her time at least.

"Stay calm, we've got you, Jemma."

-/-/-

Coulson knew the only way he was going to keep Lieutenant Hunter out of this church and seeing this horrifically twisted thing was to come in and make the rescue himself. Members of the team carefully douse the flames away from them as he makes his way to where the FBI agents are trying to soothe the victim.

So, inch by seemingly-slow inch, with the help of a mini hand held buzz saw and the FBI agents, they get the girl out. They pull the plaster away from her face, and she takes a big gasping breath. "

Grant! Grant where's Grant, is he safe? He's alive right? Please say he's alright," she pleads, eyes filling with tears.

"He's fine," Prentiss said calmly, voice gentle. "It took the biggest police officer I've seen to keep him from running in here himself. Now let's get you out of here."

"I lost hope," Jemma confessed as he continues cutting away plaster debris.

"You did just fine, sweetheart," Morgan says. "And he's never going to hurt anyone again."

-/-/-

The man who'd identified himself as Morgan carries her out. Pain resonates from what she knows are broken wrists and her face hurts, but the cool air is soothing. It reminds her she's not going to die, even if the air burns down her throat from the smoke inhalation.

Morgan's steps are confident and his hold is gentle. The voices fade in: Grant, Lance, Bobbi, all arguing, fear clear in their tones. When Morgan lays her on the gurney, the arguing stops abruptly.

Soon all of their faces float over her. Bobbi looks like she wants to envelope her in a bone crushing hug, but holds back given Jemma's clear injuries. Instead, she hiccups back tears and pets down Jemma's hair.

"Hey Jem. You're okay. You're okay."

Lance shoves Bobbi to the side to get to her. "I'm sorry, Squeaks." Lance doesn't bother to hold back his tears. "I didn't mean the things I said."

When he wipes away the plaster dust clinging to her forehead before kissing the spot, she feels safe for the first time since being taken. She feels protected just like when she was a child. It hurts but she curves her lips up in a smile as best she can even as a paramedic fits an oxygen mask over her face.

"We're fine," she croaks, because they are fine. There are bigger issues than her brother not liking her boyfriend.

The boyfriend hanging back in the fray. Even through her almost swollen shut eye she can see the serious guilt and worry painting his face. His jaw is clenched and not in the good way she usually sees. There is a hardness to it this time, and grim downturn of his lips.

She is so goddamned relieved to see him she wants to cry. She won't lose him over this, not even to his guilt.

"I knew you'd find me or die trying," She pulls the mask from her face, pushing away the paramedics hands when they try to put it back in place. "I thought for sure he'd made sure you did the dying part so please… This is not your fault," she rasps. "Damn it, Grant, don't just stand there... please…"

Her pleading seems to break him out of his trance. He crosses over to her and leand down to kiss her.

It's slow, careful, and everything she needs to feel grounded. He runs his thumb down her neck as he puts her mask back in place to feel her pulse beat under it as if he needed grounding as well. Then he's being jostled out of the way with Lance and Bobbi as the paramedics finish injecting her with a sedative and move to load her into the ambulance.

She's rolled up into the ambo where she can hear the ensuing argument about who rides with her to the hospital. Normally she'd find a way to end it, but the medication takes away her desire to care about why or why not someone has the most rights to be there. The pain in her arms is a little faded and she wants to float away to sleep.

"I don't care if you're the fucking boyfriend or the dumb shit brother, she needs someone stable. I'm riding with her, find your own way. I don't care how: planes, trains, whatever, just get there," Bobbi shouts at them, and Jemma doesn't know what she did to win, but she's sitting next to Jemma and gently putting her hands on one of Jemma's, careful not to jostle it. The paramedics close up the doors and leave the pouting men in an empty schoolyard.

After a long beat of silence once the ambulance has roared on its way, Grant turns to Lance. "All our shit aside, do you want a ride?"


End file.
